CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(l\/lonographs) 


ICIVIH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographles) 


Canadian  Inttituta  for  Historical  MIcroraproduction.  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  hiatoriq 


uas 


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lOx 

14x 

18x 

22x 

26x 

30x 

~J 

12x 

16x 

20x 

24x 

28x 

32x 

Tha  copy  filmed  h«r«  Hm  b««n  rsprotfucad  thanks 
to  th«  g«n«re«itv  of: 

NAtiOMl  Library  of  Canada 


L'OKompltiro  filmd  fut  roproduU  grAeo  A  l« 
9dn«ro«iti  do: 

Bibliothiquo  nationaXo  du  C«n«da 


Th«  imagM  appoaring  hara  ^tm  tha  baat  quality 
peaaibia  eenaidaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  eopy  and  in  liaaping  with  tha 
filming  eontraat  apacificatiens. 


Onginal  eopias  in  printad  pap«r  covara  ara  fllmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  cowar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impraa- 
aion,  or  tho  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  •*•  fllmad  baginning  on  ttM 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  Impraa* 
aion,  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  imprasaion. 


Tho  last  racordad  frama  on  aach  microflcho 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  — »  (moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"!, or  tha  symbol  V  tmaaning  "END* ). 
whiehavar  appliaa. 

Mapa,  platas,  charts,  ate.  may  ba  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduetion  ratios.  Thosa  too  larga  to  bo 
antiraly  includad  in  ona  axposura  ara  filmad 
baginning  in  tha  uppar  laft  hand  cornar.  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  framas  aa 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrama  illuatrata  tha 
mathod: 


Laa  imagaa  suivantas  ent  At*  raproduitas  avac  la 
plua  grand  soin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  I'aiiamplaira  filma.  at  an 
eonf  ormltd  avac  laa  eonditiorta  du  eontrat  da 
fiimaga. 

Laa  aaamplairaa  originaux  dont  la  eouvartura  an 
papiar  aat  imprimOa  sont  filmas  an  commancant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
darniOra  paga  qui  eomporta  una  amprainta 
d'Impraaaion  ou  d'illustration.  soit  par  la  sacond 
plat,  aalon  lo  eaa.  Taus  laa  autraa  aaamplairaa 
orlginaui  aont  fllmOa  •»  commoncant  par  la 
pramldra  paga  qui  comporto  uno  omprainta 
d'Impraaaion  ou  d'illuatration  ot  an  tarminant  par 
la  darnidra  pago  qui  comporto  uno  taiia 
amprainta. 

Un  doa  symbeloa  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
darnidra  imaga  da  chaqua  microfiche,  salon  la 
caa:  la  symbolo  -»  signiflo  "A  SUIVRE".  lo 
symbolo  ▼  signifla  "FIN '. 

Laa  cartaa,  planchaa.  tablaaux.  ate.  pauwant  *tra 
filmOa  d  daa  taua  da  rdduction  dif fSrants. 
Lorsquo  lo  aocumant  aat  trap  grand  pour  *tra 
raproduit  an  un  aaul  clichd.  il  aat  filma  d  partir 
da  I'angla  supdriaur  gaucha.  da  gaucha  d  droita. 
at  da  haut  an  baa.  an  pranant  la  nombro 
d'imogoa  ndcaaaaira.  Laa  diagrammaa  suivants 
llluatrant  la  mdthodo. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MICaoCOTY   tnoiUTION   TKT  CNAtT 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  J) 


^    APPLIED  INA^IGE    inc 


'653   East    Main   Street 

Rochester    Ne.    York         1 4609       USA 

('16)    482  -  0300 -Phon, 

(716)    -■»  -  5989  -  Fo. 


AWS.    " 
as  KUUNE 


fiimiiii,. 


(A?,!'i;j:- iri)N"M)i„.!'(xrE 


*^    • 


r^- 


m 


THE  CAREER  OF  MRS.  OSBOKNE 


0 

'"4 


■But  ,t  -a„s  Ian  />,>irn  :J,o  could  not  speak. 


:    i 


The  Career 

of 

Mrs.   Osborne 


BV 


CARLETON-MILECETE 

AUTHOR  OF 

"Misa  Vandeleuh,  Pirate" 
ILLUSTRATED     BY    BAYARD    JONES 


1903 

The  Smart  Set  Publishing  Co. 

NEW  yORK        LONDON 


COPYRIOHTBD 
1901,  b  ]r 
ESS  ESS 
PUBLISHINQ  CO. 


COPYRIGHTED 
1903,  by 
THE  SMART  SET 
PUBLISHING   CO. 


First  Printing  Stft. 


I 


PREFACE. 

Thi  principal   business  of  a  preface   is,  the 
present  writers  have  always  believed,  to  make 
some  explanation  of,  or  to  offer  some  apology 
for,  ^he  work  that  follows.     But  the  pages  of 
this  book  need  no  explanation,  as  the  reader 
may  soon  discover  for  himself;  and  we  have  no 
intention  to  apologize  if,  perchance,  we  succeed 
in  bringing  a  smile  to  the  lips  of  one  who  is 
so  venturesome  as  to  delve  into  this  little  com- 
edy.    This  brief  foreword,  then,  has  lost  sight 
of  its  chief  object.     We  can  only  wish  that  some 
one  may  find  the  pleasure  in  reading  rf  Mrs. 
Osborne  that  we  experienced  in  writi,,,.     .  her. 


«S»\*A4,>,k,„,.^ 


'  «  •   *. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I.  A  Background 

II.  The  Curious  Wiltons 

III.  The  Comedy  Begins 

IV.  A  Dead  Lion      . 
V.  A  Breath  of  Liberty      . 

VI.  The  Troubles  of  a  Flat     - 

VII.  The  New  Beauty   . 

VIII.  A  Family  Party 

IX.  Mistaken  Identity  Again 

X.  Two  social  Favorites 

XL  A  Threatened  Eviction 

XIL  The  Palace 

XIII,  A  Pair  of  Buccaneers    - 

XIV.  Explanations       -        .        .        . 
XV.  The  Lion  Unmasks 

XVT.     The  Passing  of  the  Osbornes   - 
XVII.     The  Background  Scores 


PAGR 
»5 
30 

38 

45 

51 
61 

81 

94 
109 

I20 
141 

»56 

167 

186 
199 


-*.  •.  V.  ■*  •»  •  .\  . 


*  *•»— ,^^  „, 


~   »"«-»* 


LIST  OP   ILLUSTRATIONS 


•'But  it  was  Van  Ingen  who  could 

not  speak."       ....  Prontisficcb 


^^i 


•* Lady  Jane  was  at  home.' 


Page  41 


••He  rushed  Mr.  Hopkins  to  the 

window."  ....  p^o,  65 


"And  she  had  laughed. 


Paoi 


loa 


'^m 


Hatt*  thw.  Nymph.  •»»«*  bring  w«ih  xttm 
Jr%t.  And  youthful  JoUlty, 
Quipt,  Mul  CrMikt.  siul  wMitnn  W1«U. 
No.»t.  and  Beck»,  »nil  wtmUiM  baulm; 
Svich  M  hmau  "n  H  jb««»  ehetk, 
And  lova  to  Uva  in  dirmJa  tlMk; 
Sport  th«t  wrinkled  C»r«  dartdti. 
And  Uuflhtai  holding  both  hi*  #dtf . 

MUum-"  LAUtgro.' 


I 
■  i 

If  ' 


1 


s 


Porwtrd  And  froH*  (l«t  wm  tli«f«. 
Tht  wtll  to  4e.  ilw  MHil  to  (l«r» 

"  Udy  ol  tbt  '^*k*. 


\i 


The  Career  of  Mrs.  Osborne 


CHAPTER  I 


A   BACKGiOUND 


When  Captain  George  Wilton  of  the  Royal 
Irish  Fusiliers,  only  son  of  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Wilton  of  The  Cedars,  Elmhurst,  Berkshire, 
married  an  American,  his  mother  fainted. 
When,  two  years  after,  he  sent  his  wife  and  lier 
sister  home  from  India  to  reside  undrr  the 
parental  rooftree  until  his  return,  she  fainted 
no  more.  Instead,  a  fine  light  of  battle  rose 
in  her  small  brown  eyes  with  the  ..dvent  of 
the  two  daughters  of  Heth.  They  should  be 
shown  what  it  meant  to  brave  an  outraged 
English  mother  in  her  own  drawing-room. 

And  shown  they  were  throughout  an  English 
Winter,  with  kind  advice  and  otlwr  things  that 

«5 


ZJ^t  Career  of  fiusi.  €)0bome 


( 
I 

■ 


1 1 


i 


left  them  calm  as  glass,  till  one  night  in  April, 
when  Mrs.  George  Wilton  by  the  light  of  one 
composition  candle  read  and  re-read  a  para- 
graph in  Fanity  Fair. 

It  was  a  small  thing  to  rouse  the  spirit  of 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  in  a  woman 
who  had  married  because  she  was  asked  to 
marry,  and  had  borne  tacitly  with  the  rule  of 
a  mother-in-law  because  she  was  asked  to  bear 
with  it ;  but  rouse  that  spirit  it  did.  Jane  Eger- 
ton  had  married  with  a  Background,  a  gor- 
geous tapestry  of  life  with  one  figure  in  it. 
Even  on  her  wedding  day  her  husband  had 
been  as  a  faint  etching  hung  on  the  splendid 
color,  the  too  bold  lines  of  that  never  forgot- 
ten Background.  And  here — the  paper  shook 
in  her  shaking  hand — the  Backgrouihl  was 
alive  again;  was  "become  a  multi-millionaire 
by  the  tragic  death  of  his  unmarried  uncle  in 
the  ill-fated  S.  S.  City  of  Perth;  had  taken  a 
house  in  Grosvenor  Crescent  and  would  enter- 
tain largely  during  the  season."  The  new 
millionaire  was  but  thirty-three  and  un- 
married. 

"  Miles,"  said  Mrs.  George  Wilton  to  her- 

i6 


dii 


iiS 


m^t  €axm  of  savii.  €)isbonte 


self,  "  Miles  in  London!  And  I'm  here,  dead 
and  buried — and  married  to  a  Wilton !  "  She 
wished  wildly  that  she  had  married  a  duke  or 
a  Vanderbilt,  to  be  able  to  meet  Miles  Van 
Ingen  and  tell  him  so. 

She  remembered  the  last  time  she  had  seen 
him.  It  was  at  church,  the  evening  service. 
She  could  see  now  that  country  choir,  the 
ghostly  purples  and  pinks  of  the  east  window 
against  the  dying  light  outside.  It  was  a  queer 
way  to  remember  Van  Ingen,  but  it  was  true ; 
just  as  the  walk  home  afterward  was  true,  and 
the  good-bye  under  the  big  hornbeam  by  the 
gate  he  had  been  forbidden  to  enter.  He  had 
had  no  money,  no  more  had  she — of  course 
it  had  been  good-bye;  he  was  not  the  sort  of 
man  to  ask  a  girl  to  marry  him  and  exist 
in  a  two-by-four  house  in  Brooklyn.  But  there 
was  money  now,  hers  as  well  as  his;  and — 
her  thoughts  crowded  so  that  she  could  not 
think.  Her  eyes  fell  on  a  paragraph  below 
the  one  she  had  been  reading. 

Mrs.  George  Wilton  clutched  the  paper  tight 
to  a  leaping  heart,  stared  at  her  own  face  in  the 
glass  and  turned  from  absolutely  white  to  scar- 

2  17 


ii 


€lfte  Career  of  fiivsL  fDsOmnt 


let,  and  back  again.  With  shoeless  feet  she 
stole  along  the  corridor  to  the  door  of  her  sis- 
ter's bedroom  and  closed  it  behind  her  with 
elaborate  caution. 

"Is  the  oil  stove  lit?"  she  demanded. 
"Thank  heaven!"  Rut  she  stretched  her 
chilled  hands  over  the  hot  brass  without  grat- 
itude.   Sarah  groaned. 

"  I've  spoiled  my  best  dressing  gown  trying 
to  abate  the  smell,"  .she  said.  "  Does  it  smell 
— much— oilside?" 

"  Not  at  all."  Jane  had  been  conscious  of 
paraffin  yards  down  the  passage,  but  why  say 
so?  Were  not  the  Wilton  family  all  in  bed 
in  woolen  nightgowns,  and  safe  till  morning? 
Let  it  smell. 

She  disposed  herself  as  near  the  stove  as 
iwssible.  while  a  polite  clock  somewhere  rang 
half-past  twelve.  Everything  was  genteel  in 
the  house  of  her  mother-in-law  except  her 
father-in-law,  and  he  was  unspeakable.  An 
old  Indian  who  does  not  smoke  and  never  con- 
trols his  temper  usually  is.  Colonel  Wilton 
•  nanaged  his  family  and  his  house  with  a  pre- 
cision as  dull  as  a  Scotch  story.     The  days 

i8 


■■sm 


C^e  Career  of  fMi*  €)jeil)ome 


at  The  Cedars  rolled  by  in  heavy  state,  punctu- 
ated neatly  with  meals  and  finished  elegantly  at 
ten  o'clock  with  the  full  stop  of  prayers. 

The  object  in  life  of  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton was  to  marry  their  daughters.  They  said 
so  in  unadorned  phrases  to  their  daughter-in- 
law  and  her  sister.  The  two  girls  themselves 
spoke  of  possible  matches  with  smug  smiles. 
The  smooth  garden,  the  neat  fields,  the  solemn 
dinners  and  the  weary  evenings  all  seemed  sat- 
urated with  matchmaking  to  the  two  American 
visitors,  to  whom  marriage  had  never  been 
pointed  out  as  The  Only  Career  of  Women. 

The  two  Misses  Wilton  were  considered  by 
their  parents  to  be  "  on  approval,"  but  the  sup- 
posed approvers  had  said  nothing — they  were 
merely  constant  in  coming  to  tea. 

It  had  struck  none  of  the  Wiltons  that  the 
appearance  of  these  male  lights  on  the  horizon 
was  coeval  with  the  arrival  of  Mr^  George 
Wilton  and  her  sister  Miss  Egerton.  Life  at 
The  Cedars  did  not  sharpt.i  the  wits.  No  one 
ever  did  anything  there  but  eat,  drink  and  gos- 
sip. A  letter  was  an  event — to  be  inquired  into. 
Heavy  puddings  at  luncheon  were  followed  by 

19 


Zjt  career  of  fiitfL  ^lOmnt 


heavier  ones  at  dinner.    There  were  no  duties, 
no  diversions ;  and  Jane  and  Sarah  had  endured 
existence  there  for  months.     Their  Colonial 
blood  ran  thin  in  the  damp  of  a  cold  April, 
when  they  were  not  allowed  fires  because  the 
label  of  the  month  was  Spring.     In  boredom 
and  a  raging  east  wind  their  noses  grew  red 
and  chilly,  till  Sarah  in  desperation  had  in- 
vested in  her  contraband  oil  stove.    But  Jane 
was  oblivious  of  it  now,  even  while  she  sat  by 
It  and  thawed. 

"Sarah,"    she    said,    sharply,    "are    you 
happy  ?  " 

Sarah  stared  at  her. 

"Happy!     After   this   afternoon?     When 
Mr.  O'Hara  ca  ne  in  with  his  cheerful  smile 
and  his  red-gold  hair—"  warming  to  her  sub- 
ject in  the  malodorous  cheer  of  her  cherished 
stove  and  regardless  of  a  certain  look  on  her 
sister's  face—"  and  mamma-in-Iaw  prepared  to 
annex  him,  then  it  was  that  he  sat  down  by  me. 
Think  of  my  daring  to  appropriate  Amelia's 
lawful  prey !    Mamma-in-law  could  have  killed 
me.     No  wonder  she  gave  us  boiled  veal  for 
dinner.    For  you  were  no  better.    She  intended 

20 


C^e  Career  of  fML  f&fOmnt 

Mr.  Hopkins  for  Evelyn,  and  it  was  you  by 
whom  he  seated  himself,  while  his  looks— oh, 
if  his  looks  had  only  been  turned  on  Amelia! 
But  a  married  woman  has  no  right  to  looks 
from  a  young  man." 

"As  if  I  did  not  hear  that  every  day!" 
Jane's  voice  was  dryly  indifferent,  her  frown 
contemptuous.  "  And  what  do  I  want  of  a 
Hopkins?" 

Sarah  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  He  and  Mr.  O'Hara  are  all  we've  had  to 
keep  us  alive,"  she  said.  *'  Not  that  they're 
much  pleasure  to  me.  I  hate  talking  to  a 
man  when  I  am  surrounded  by  females  with 
their  mouths  open  like  young  robins.  But 
we'd  have  looked  well  at  that  ball  without 
them ! " 

For  Colonel  Wilton  had  taken  his  two 
daughters,  his  daughter-in-law  and  her  sister 
to  the  Hunt  Ball  in  haste ;  and  had  repented  at 
leisure.  Jane  and  Sarah  had  danced  all  night 
with  the  men  who  should  have  been  dancing 
with  Evelyn  and  AmeUa.  The  atmos^^here  at 
The  Cedars  had  been  thunderous  since  that  ball. 
Amelia  had  flashed  sheet  lightning  to  the  effect 

21 


€5e  Career  of  fsitn  ^fOmnt 


that  married  women  should  never  go  to  balls; 
they  were  sold,  and  no  longer  "  on  approval."' 
Mrs.  Wilton's  lightning  was  the  forked  form 
of  regretting  the  exploring  and  annexing  and 
marrymg  tendency  of  young  and  unprotected 
Englishmen  in  wild  regions,  such  as  America. 
The  insult  to  her  beloved  country  stung  Sarah 
now. 

"  I  wish  we  were  in  New  York."  she  said, 
viciously,  getting  up  and  beginning  to  brush 
her  waving  hair.  "  But  as  we're  here  I  sup- 
pose we  may  as  well  go  to  bed.  There  is  noth- 
ing to  get  up  for  to-morrow,  but  if  we  don't 
sleep  we  shall  look  even  worse  than  wc  do. 
Your  nose  was  bright  red  to-day  when  the 
drawing-room  was  so  cold."  Sarah  was  vilely 
truthful. 

But  truth  was  what  Jane  had  come  for. 
She  stood  up  in  her  white  dressing  gown,  her 
throat  rising  very  straight  and  round  out  of 
its  lace  and  chiffon,  her  eyes  hard,  her  young 
shoulders  held  superbly. 

"  Sarah,"  she  said,  "  look  at  me— look  hard. 
Do  you  think  I'm  good-looking?  I  don't  mean 
pretty,    I  mean— more." 

22 


Zl^t  career  of  ffixn*  i)0bonte 

Sarah's  brush  waved  in  mid-air. 

"  I  always  said  you  were  a  fool  to  throw 
yourself  away  on  George,  even  if  it  was  while 
we  were  poor,"  she  said,  with  the  composure 
of  contempt.  "  You  know  you're  lovely ;  you 
always  were,  even  at  fifteen.  Why  do  you  want 
me  to  tell  you  so  ?  "  She  looked  clear-eyed  at 
Jane  as  she  spoke,  at  her  chestnut-brown  hair, 
her  brown  eyes,  her  exquisite  azalea-colored 
cheeks ;  saw,  as  the  world  saw  when  Jane  Wil- 
ton passed  by,  her  grace,  her  carriage,  her  air 
that  was  half  princess  and  half  child.  "  Much 
good  it  has  done  you  to  be  beautiful,"  she 
added,  huskily,  though  she  liked  George.  Per- 
haps she  knew  too  well  why  Jane  had  married 
him. 

But  Jane's  eyes  only  brightened. 

"  That's  all  I  wanted  to  know,"  she  re- 
turned, coolly,  and  sat  down.  "  No  woman's 
beautiful  for  nothing — when  she  knows  it.  It's 
going  to  do  this  much  good,  it  will  get  us  away 
from  here.  You  said  there  was  nothing  to 
get  up  for,  and  no  joy  in  life — but  there  shall 
be."  She  threw  back  her  head  with  confidence, 
as    became    a    woman  who  had  always  been 

23 


I 


rS^^  **"' "  ■"  ♦  ^^'--m^^ 


'^f 


etc  €mn  of  jutji  g>rtorne 

lovely.    "  Wc  will  go  away  from  here.    We 
will  take  a  flat  in  London." 

"  Take  a  flat !  "  with  an  incredulous  glare. 
Take  a  flat,"  firmly,  "  in  London.    Wc  will 
live  by  ourselves,  do  everything,  go  every- 
where."   She  swept  her  hand  comprehensively 
round  the  horizon. 

"  We  can't,"  said  Sarah,  crushingly.  "  You 
know  they'd  never  let  us  go." 

"Look   here;   did  you  ever   read   'Uncle 
Remus'."" 

Sarah  nodded. 

"  Well,  when  he  was  just  driven  to  desper- 
ation he  '  lammed  aloose,'  and  so  shall  I  We 
might  know  plenty  of  nice  people  in  England. 
We  11  never  see  any  here." 

"Men."  Sarah's  tone  was  soft  and  thought- 
ful. * 

"  Well,  men.  if  you  like,"  unabashed.  "  But 
people,  not  monsters.  Anyhow,  we  are  going 
up  to  town  next  week  to  take  a  flat  near  a 
woman  who's  a  relation  of  ours,  quite  a  grand 
person  and  a  beauty." 

Sarah  gasped. 


24 


CQe  Career  of  fUtiL  tf>iaome 


! 


"What's  her  name?"  ihe  demanded. 
"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  *' 

"Jane  Oiborne,"  with  lofty  calm. 

Miss  Egerton  sat  paralyzed.  When  she 
tpoke  it  was  in  an  awestruck  whisper. 

••  But  she •• 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  stolidly.  "  But  the  Wiltons 
don't.  And  I  sha'n't  tell  them  much  about  her. 
I  don't  want  them  to  hunt  her  down  ana  spend 
all  their  waking  hours  calling  on  her  when  they 
go  up  10  town." 

"  But  she  can't  be  in  London;  she " 

'*  She  can,  just  as  well  as  we  can.  Are  you 
an  idiot,  Sarah?  Don't  you  remember  New- 
port ?    She  was  useful  enough  there." 

Sarah  bounced  in  her  chair. 

"  For  two  days,"  she  said,  solemnly.  "  And 
this  isn't  Newport.  And  do  you  imagine  you 
can  choke  the  Wiltons  olT  her — let  alone  any- 
one else  ? " 

"  I  can — just  because  this  isn't  Newport. 
London's  a  big  place ;  they  won't  move  in  Mrs. 
Osborne's  set.    They'll  never  see  her." 

Sarah  broke  into  wild  laughter. 

"A  beauty  I"  she  gasped.  "Oh,  I'm  not 
25 


U.lm^„l  ,l„„l<  „  j„„j.     J,,,,  ,  ^^^.^  ^^ 

••  V...I  will  by-and-byc.     Do,,',  you  «,  «.. 
nnist  have  somm^n*?    i-  ^""  »cc  we 

H    .  ■"""  """■     '  »'•»"  have  a 

"7  ''•""'''  »■«  »'V  here?    These  people  are 
«"..„,.  .„„,  a,  , hey  dare  ,„  be,    Pra'    .h^ 

"  «>  'h«  we  re  goinR,  ami  that  we've  a 
cous,,,,  Mr,.  Ostorne,  ,„  ,...|,e  „,  „„  J/  J 
«.nr    Theyl|bcfr,gh.e„edofher,too    C„m 

"AndlVV"  •■■    '""   ""n?"  breathlessly. 
^  And  why  do  you  wan.  her  to  come  .0  Lo„. 

"Because  she',   a  period,"  darkly,   "and 

you  II  know  soon  enough  why,,,  J;  her™ 
you  don't  now."  ' 

"SowilIGeorgc."dryIy.",vhen  he  arrives 
26 


«5e  career  of  f^ns.  oiOiame 


from  India  and  find*  us  in  town  instead  of 
under  his  paternal  roor" 
Jane's  face  went  white  with  passion. 
"  Let  George  alone.     I'm  tired  of  this  ctcr- 
nal  George  <linne<l  at  me.    I  Ic  would  marry  mc 
—oh,  I  know  he's  dear  .nnd  nico  and  sweet,  but 
I  want  to  live.    I  want  to  Iw  free.    I  never  had 
any  youth,  you  know  I  never  had.    I'm  going 
to  use  what's  left  while  I  can— 111  have  forty 
years  to  live  George's  life.     Now  I'm  going 
to  live  my  own.  with  Mrs.  Osborne  and  you. 
Besides."  her  voice  was  lowered  again.  "  I  can 
say  I  really  couldn't  stand  George's  |)eoplc.    I 
hop*  he'll  never  grow  like  them." 
Sarah  reflected. 

"  He  did  look  like  his  mother  once,  the  wet 
day  he  made  you  wear  rubbers,"  she  said. 
^  "  No,  he  didn't.  Sarah."  sharply.  "  Besides. 
I'd  rather  go  away  and  be  killed  for  it  than 
stay  here,  for  I  should  be  certain  to  go  mad 
or  get  very  plain.  We'll  go  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  a— a  roof  to  cover  us  in  town.  As  for 
George,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  worry  about 
confessing  to  him  when  I  have  .something  to 
confess."  with  a  pale  smile.    "  We  didn't  come 

27 


<»  career  of  jUra  AOmte 


I 


to  Englind  to  be  »hut  up  in  jail;  wc  came  to 
enjoy  ourielvei.     And  were  going  to  do  it 
through  Mr..  O.borne.    For  if  I  told  the  bare 
truth  about  being  bored  here  and  wanting  to 
be  amuMMl.  ^frs.  Wilton  would  tend  me  to  a 
hinatic  asylum.     She  has  taught  me  to  be  a 
har  already;  if  I  „ayed  here  .hed  teach  me  to 
be  a  murderer.     I  am  going  to  *  lam  aIoo»e ' 
and,  incidentally,  pay  Iwck  every  insult  she  has 
put  on  us.    Of  course."  with  lofty  virtue   "  I 
•hall  not  do  anything  I'd  mind  confessing  to 
George."  * 

She  gathered  her  dressing  gown  about  her 
«»  »hc  prepared  to  slip  cautiously  back  to  her 
own  room;  the  paper  she  had  brought  with  her 
fell  on  the  cari)ct-she  had  got  all  s»v  wantc! 
out  of  it. 

Sarah  put  out  the  oil  stove  and  got  into  bed 
hy  the  li^ht  of  the  one  candle  with  which  she 
nightly  ruined  her  eyes  in  the  effort  to  read  a 
sufficiency  of  cheerful  literature  to  counteract 
the  effect  of  the  day  on  her  mind. 

"  Don't  worry."  she  remarked,  disposing  her 
Pdlows  high.  ••  You'll  do  enough-but  you 
won't  confess  it."  and  she  smiled  the  smile  of 

28 


UiiHi^afi 


Utf^AAHUb. 


C^e  €^tm  of  ffitn.  ^)Aome 


•eoirity  in  the  dim  light.  She  be»towc<l  no 
thought  wna  ever  on  Mrt.  Oihorne.  The  fan- 
ity  Fair  J:\'\e  had  left  behinci  caught  her  eye 
where  it  lay  humped  on  the  flixir.  ami  sfie 
clawed  it  with  a  long  arm.  It  was  folcletl  back 
at  the  two  paragraph*  Jane  had  rea«l— and  not 
mentioned.  At  the  first  Missi  Kgerton  startetl 
with  enlightenment ;  the  second  she  read  aloud 
to  her  empty  nwm  and  her  one  candle : 

Thtrt  <•  «n  unpurallelcd  opening  <n  town  thii  wMon 
for  a  ni-w  btauty.  It  is  mUI,  «»iove  a  whinper,  th«t  there 
will  not  be  ■  «Ubut«nte  poMemetl  even  of  averaKe  goo<l 
looki ;  and  for  th«»^  who  are  not  d^tmtantes  it  ia  per. 
Biitted  to  My  that  it  i>  a  long  time  since  they  have  worn 
their  baby  ahoea.  A  new  beauty,  real  and  undeniable, 
and  tranMtlantic  for  choice,  would  have  the  ball  at  her 
feet  this  year.  TranaatUntic,  1  say,  because  we  all  know 
how  fvw  qupfitioDA  are  asked  about  Besuty  Yiacked  by 
Dollars  and  untrammeled  by  the  '  Almanach  de  Cotha." 

"  Mrs.  Osborne! "  said  Sarah,  in  an  eldritch 
whisper.    "  Goodness  gracious  me !  " 


39 


CHAPTER  n 


THE  CURIOUS  WILTONS 

Sarah  sat  surrounded  by  Wiltons  in  a  room 
that  was  stufify  in  spite  of  being  chilly.  She 
was  ostentatiously  doing  needlework,  but  she 
wore  her  best  manner  nervously,  for  Jane  had 
gone  to  town  the  day  before,  and  the  atmos- 
phere of  The  Cedars  was  straining  to  the  nerves 
when  taken  undiluted. 

"I  wonder  how  Jane's  toothache  is?"  she 
remarked,  tentatively.  "  I  think  I  will  go  down 
to  the  village  and  send  her  a  wire." 

Mrs.  Wilton  turned  from  her  writing  table 
with  smooth  disapproval. 

"  Oh,  why  go  out?  The  roads  are  so  damp 
after  last  night's  storm." 

"  Storm  ?  Oh,  but  there  wasn't  any  storm," 
with  wide  eyes. 

"  There  was  heavy  rain,"  decidedly.     "  But 

if  you  think  it  necessary  to  telegraph,"  with 

30 


Clfte  Career  of  fikx%.  o^bome 


emphasis— wire  was  a  vulgar  term,  even  com- 
mercial—'* I  V,..  ,  nn  „p  this  form  for  you,  and 
James  can    ikc  it  to  Hit  '  illage." 
"I  shoui  ,  [u<t  the  wi'lk,"  faintly. 
^  "  Oh,  but  i  tniuk  you  walk  far  too  much. 
You  keep  yourselves  thin,  you  and  Jane,  with 
your  ene  getic  ways."  eying  Sarah's  slight  and 
languid   figure   with   disapproval.      "  Shall   I 
write  3'our  telegram  ?  " 

"  Please  don't  trouble.  I  can  go  down  this 
afternoon." 

"You  are  so  independent,"  Mrs.  Wilton 
murmured,  sweetly. 

Sarah  fidgeted.  Why  had  she  been  such  a 
fool  as  not  to  go  to  town  with  Jane  ?  Her  head 
ached  in  the  closeness  and  her  arms  crept  with 
gooseflesh  in  the  sunless  room.  Mrs.  Wilton 
never  admitted  the  sun  into  her  house— it  faded 
the  carpets. 

"If  you  want  to  go  out,  perhaps  you  would 
go  into  the  garden  with  Amelia  and  pick  some 
flowers,"  with  kindly  concession. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  do  the  flowers  this  morn- 
ing," said  Amelia,  looking  up  from  a  nightmare 
of  blue  embroidery  that  she  was  making  lurid 

31 


~T «..- 


C^ie  career  of  fUtfL  mhotnt 


with  red  and  yellow.  "  They  were  done  the 
day  before  yesterday.  But  presently  I  am 
going  to  pick  slugs  off  the  anemones.  Sarah 
might  come  and  help  me  there  if  she  likes. 

Sarah  shuddered.  The  fat,  slimy  things  that 
were  soft  and  cold  through  her  glove,  the  jar 
of  salt  and  water  to  which  they  must  be  con- 
signed, made  her  ill. 

"  I—I  don't  think  I'll  go  out  this  morning, 
thank  you,  Amelia,"  she  uttered,  faintly.  Bet- 
ter a  thousand  miles  of  elegant  embroidery  than 
half  an  hour  bent  double  in  the  exciting  slug 
chase.  "  My  head  aches  to-day.  I  think  I'll 
go  and  take  a  powder." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  good  to  take  drugs 
for  headache,  my  dear  Sarah."  Remonstrance 
was  the  breath  of  life  to  Mrs.  Wilton.  "  Try 
to  bear  it  and  it  will  pass  away." 

"  Those  long  walks  you  and  Jane  take  must 
be  bad  for  you.  Evelyn  and  I  never  walk,  it  is 
so  tiring."    Thus  Amelia. 

Sarah  bent  her  eyes  firmly  on  her  work,  her 
small,  pale  face  quite  expressionless.  "  If  you 
would  walk,  or  ride,  or  bicycle,  or  something, 
you  might  not  be  so  unbearable  to  live  with,"' 

32 


il 


p'l 


ci^e  Career  of  iiirjj.  flDjSbonte 


she  thought,  passionately.  "If  something 
doesn't  happen  soon  I  shall  scream.  I  know  I 
shall." 

There  was  a  little  stir  in  the  room  a  serv- 
ant came  in  bearing  a  note,  a  very  large  note  on 
a  very  small  tray.  The  weary  Sarah  did  not 
look  up.  No  one  ever  wrote  her  any  rotes  at 
The  Cedars. 

"  You  can  bring  it  to  me,  James,"  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton spoke  condescendingly,  for  James  was  pass- 
ing by  her. 

"  It  is  not  for  you,  m'm,"  uncomfortably. 
James  was  a  new  importation  and  still  had  no- 
tions of  the  rights  of  property, 

Mrs.  V^^'ion's  brow  clouded  and  then  cleared 
magnaij  y. 

"  If  it  ..  lor  Miss  Wilton  she  is  with  the 
Colonel  in  his  study." 

James  was  determined  if  trembling. 

"  It  is  for  Miss  Egerton,  m'm." 

Sarah  started  violently.  With  a  trembling 
hand  she  took  the  large  white  note  from  the 
tray.  Why  had  he  used  so  monogramed  an 
envelope?  Why  sent  it  by  hand  ?  Oh,  ifj^ne 
were  only  here  I  She  rose  to  leave  the  room. 
3  33        • 


=F 


•fi 


Cje  Career  of  jarn  ^lOmnt 


in 
1'^ 


"  Pray  open  your  letter,  my  dear." 
"Fancy  your  retting  a  note!  You  don't 
know  anyone  in  the  neighborhood— at  least, 
not  well."  Amelia  gazed  at  the  letter  with 
curiosity,  but  Sarah  had  clutched  the  mono- 
gram to  her  palm.  "What  can  it  be?  An  in- 
vitation ? " 

"Hardly,  my  dear  Amelia.     Sarah  would 
only  be  asked  anywhere  as  belonging  to  our 
party.     Pray  open  your  note,  Sarah;  we  are 
quite  dying  of  curiosity." 
"  Don't  you  know  who  k's  from,  Sarah?" 
Miss  Egerton's  drooping  soul  rose  to  arms. 
She  was  under  no  obligation  to  tell  the  truth  to 
Amelia.    With  a  calm  eye  and  a  careful  hand 
she  opened  the  exciting  letter,  and  for  one  in- 
stant sat  appalled. 

This  is  to  warn  you  that  I  am  asked  over  to  luncheoa 
I  must  see  you  and  hear  your  plans.  I  met  your  sister 
yesterday  and  went  as  far  as  the  junction  with  her.  She 
seemed  in  great  pain,  and  told  me  she  found  this  air  too 
relaxing,  and  thought  of  taklu-  a  flat  in  town.  O'Hara 
•nd  I  are  going  up  in  a  day  or  two.  Do  tell  me  your 
plans.    She  was  looking  wretched. 

"She I"    And  this  was  Amelia's  supposed 
34 


Ctie  Career  of  fsixsL  iOsibmit 


adorer!    Coming  to  luncheon f    He  would  talk 
about  Jane.    How  was  she  to  stop  him  ? 

"  Well,  my  dear,  have  you  solved  the  mys- 
tery? Is  your  letter  from  the  rectory .  "  Even 
a  Yankee  connection  may  be  allowed  to  have 
notes  from  the  parson's  wife. 

Sarah's  blue  eyes  met  Mrs.  Wilton's  small 
brown  ones  without  a  tremor.  "  My  note  is 
from  Mrs.— Osborne."  And  if  she  faintly  hes- 
itated before  the  name  no  one  observed  it. 

"And  who  is  Mrs.  Osborne,  my  dear?  " 

''  We  don't  know  any  Osbornes,"  in  unison. 

"She  is  an  American—"  once  launched 
Sarah  was  floating  nobly-"  a  great  friend  of 
ours." 

"  Oh !  I  suppose  she  is  staying  in  the  coun- 
try somewhere?" 

The  desperate  Sarah,  slipping  the  mono- 
gramed  note  wrong  side  up  into  a  safe  pocket, 
supposed  she  was. 

"  I  shall  ask  Mr.  Hopkins  if  ne  knows  her; 
he  is  coming  to  luncheon."  Mrs.  Wilton  purred 
with  excitement.  "  Amelia,  go  and  put  on  that 
pale-green  frock  of  }  jurs.  Dear  child !  "  as  the 
obedient    Amelia    departed,    "she    looks    so 

35 


m 


i 


Cl^e  Career  of  ffitfL  iflOiOome 


springlike  in  it.    I  always  say  anyone  can  wear 

blue."    Sarah  wore  it  all  day  and  every  day. 

"  It  needs  a  complexion  to  wear  green." 
Sarah  was  spared  a  reply  by  the  arrival  of 

Mr.  Hopkins,  which  did  not  raise  her  depressed 
spirit.  But  she  forgot  his  being  small  and 
fussy,  because  he  bore  a  friendly  face;  even  his 
blue  serge  clothes  she  looked  on  kindly,  till 
after  luncheon.  After  luncheon  they  played 
croquet.  Sarah  soon  saw  why  Mr.  Hopkins 
had  proposed  it,  for  he  hit  no  ball  but  hers. 

"  Dear  lady,  I  must  speak  to  you."  He  set- 
tled his  ball  with  care.  "  Or  would  you  write 
to  me?" 

"  Colonel  Wilton  looks  over  every  letter  in 
the  postbag." 

"Let  me  meet  you  somewhere  in  the  vil- 
lage." 

"  With  all  the  family  at  my  heels,"  dryly. 
"  I'll  write  you  to-morrow,  then." 
"  For  heaven's  sake,  never  write  again ! " 
But  I  must  know  when  you  are  leaving. 
Your  sister  said  you  would  tell  me.    I'll  send 
a  boy  for  a  message." 
"  Don't  send  any  boys  to  me"  furiously. 
36 


Cl^e  Camv  of  flitn.  fDOmnt 


It  was  all  very  well  that  Mr.  Hopkins  and 
Mr.  O'Hara  should  follow  them  to  town  as  use- 
ful adorers,  but  they  should  do  no  more;  she 
would  nU  have  them  sitting  at  the  door  of  her 
flat  till  she  wanted  them.  Besides,  for  all  she 
knew  Jane's  town  plans  comprehended  neither 
a  Hopkins  nor  an  O'Hara. 

"  It  is  of  no  use  asking  me  things,"  she  said, 
sternly.  "I  don't  know  what  we  arc  going 
to  do.  But  we'll  write  to  you  from  town.  I 
can't  write  a  letter  here  without  being  asked 
why  I'm  writing;  I  can't  go  out  without  being 
told  not  to  tire  myself  and  asked  where  I'm 
going;  I  can't  even  say  'No,  thank  you,'  to 
pudding.  And  if  you  want  to  say  anything  to 
me,  don't  whisper.  You  do  growl  so  when  you 
whisper  I " 

"Dear  Sarah  does  get  so  excited  about 
games.  She  is  so  energetic  about  everything," 
said  that  Spring  Iamb  Amelia  to  Hopkins  as  he 
returned  to  her  side. 

And  Mr.  Hopkins  made  no  reply. 


37 


111  lurii  itiijiiii 


"■^■^*"'"-^""'- 


Hi 


If     H 


^ 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  COMEDY  BEGINS 

Miss  Egerton  sprawled  on  the  sofa  in  a 
furnished  flat  in  the  suburb  of  West  Kensing- 
ton and  surveyed  her  sister.  To  arrive  at  a 
servantless  abode  after  dark  was  not  her  idea 
of  "  lamming  aloose,"  and  she  said  so. 

Jane  laughed. 

"  I  am  going  to  call  on  my  godmother  this 
morning,"  she  said. 

"  She  won't  know  you  from  Eve." 

"  So  much  tht  better,"  with  a  little  laugh, 
"  You  wait,"  and  she  vanished. 

The  godmother  was  Lady  Jane  Mandeville, 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Shropshire  and  wife 
of  Sir  Richard  Mandeville,  late  Ambassador  at 
Washington  and  a  power  in  the  land. 

Sarah  thought,  and  said  nothing.  She 
would  make  a  divine  wife  for  some  man  some 

38 


one  Cimr  o(  jria  g)ttome 


day;  this  capacity  for  holding  her  tongue  would 
be  a  prtceleu  benefit  to  her  husband.  Of  courie 
•he  was  well  aware  that  Jane's  visit  to  her  god* 
mother  was  the  result  of  but  one  fact— the  pres- 
ence of  Miles  Van  Ingen  in  town.  But  Sarah 
had  none  of  the  qualities  of  a  missionary ;  she 
had  no  sermon  to  preach.  However,  she  would 
take  good  care  that  Jane's  little  ship  should  not 
fly  the  pirate  flag  too  long  or  get  into  troubled 
seas.  For  the  rest— well,  she  as  well  as  her  sis- 
ter had  the  "  wander  lust "  in  her  blood  after 
her  course  of  Wilton  society. 

Mrs.  George  Wilton  emerged  from  her  coup6 
at  Lady  Jane's  house  in  Prince's  Gardens  look- 
ing a  vision  in  frills  of  soft  lace  and  dull-pink 
muslin  and  a  hat  solely  constructed  of  apple 
blossoms  that  would  have  made  a  Devonshire 
apple  tree  look  as  if  suffering  from  blight. 

Lady  Jant  was  at  home.  She  did  not  re- 
member her  goddaughter,  but  as  Jane  had  been 
exactly  two  when  the  Ambassadress  left  Wash- 
ington she  had  not  expected  an  affectionate 
greeting.  No  one  with  a  figure  more  like  a 
hippopotamus  than  any  other  living  thing  can 
possess  the  memory  of  a  Royalty.    She  prompt- 

39 


1 1  i 


€te  Cimt  or  mn.  tMnm 


\y  explained  that  the  was  one  of  the  goddiugh- 
teri. 

Lady  Jane  began  with  the  painfuHy  affable 
•mile  the  had  acquired  in  the  early  days  of  her 
husband'i  career,  but  she  gradually  succumbed 
to  the  charm  of  the  girl,  and  waxed  natural. 

"  Was  your  father  the  copper  Egerton.  or 
the  oil,  my  dear?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Neither,"  said  Jane,  firmly.  "  He  was  the 
Senator." 

"  Oh,  of  course !  "  cheerfully.    "  I  know  all 
about  you  now.    You  must  forgive  me  for  my 
want  of  memory.    After  I  left  Washington  I 
1«  .'led  my  work  better,  and  I  kept  a  book. 
'1  nere  were  so  many  babies  wherever  I  went, 
and  I  am  a  wretched  hand  at  names,"  plain- 
tively.   "  I  never  could  tell  them  apart  unless 
their  mothers  were  with  them."    She  sighed, 
and  then  her  face  yt  up.    This  girl  was  more 
than  pretty,  and  had  come  just  in  the  nick  of 
time  to  save  l.er  trouble.    Sir  Richard  Mande- 
ville  was  rather  a  bother  to  his  obedient  spouse, 
and  that  very  morning  had  told  her  her  parties 
consisted  of  the  ugliest  women  in  London- 
adding  that  he  knew  why,  with  a  sneer.    She 

40 


m 


'l.iuiy  June  \as  at  lumi,: 


I     ^ 

i 


!«-^^«%"r -.i.;. 


C^  Camr  of  iKvi.  OAome 


had  not  •niwcrcd  him ;  her  ptttion  for  her  too 
•morout  lord  hid  only  lurvivcd  lutticicntly  to 
nuke  her  with  to  keep  him  innocently  amuicd, 
and  here  was  the  mean*  at  her  hand. 

"  Of  cour»e  you  married  Osborne,"  she  taid. 
and  plainly  Mr«.  Osborne's  name  was  not  un- 
known to  her,  for  she  nodded  approval. 

Jane  sat  in  scarlet  silence,  and  then  nodded 
like  a  mandarin.  It  was  not  she  who  had  told 
■  lie. 

••  Well,  you  are  not  *  Plain  Jane,'  as  they 
used  to  call  me  in  the  days  of  my  youth  f  You 
will  have  a  great  success  here,  I  foresee  that. 
You  are  lucky  to  be  a  widow  and  so  fascinat- 
ing. I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  and  she  was 
— it  would  take  Richard  off  her  mind. 

"  I  am  giving  a  ball  next  week ;  "  her  playful 
manner  was  almost  elephantinely  ridiculous. 
"You  must  come.  I  love  pretty  people,  and 
your  women  do  know  how  to  dress.  I  yearn 
to  have  a  beauty  at  my  shows."  Here  Lady 
Jane  beamed  with  great  amiability.  "You 
must  let  me  see  a  lot  of  you  and  your  com- 
panion.   Did  you  say  she  was  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Jane,  truthfully,  if  reluctantly. 
41 


f  *;*4-4^a.^V»i,»-.'»^-*^ , 


■  ...^'Mta.^u,^^*.  »"»  ».^A  fc^.k.-««««-,  .  -...v 


«^»-^   «fc  -■•»  .Va 


C^e  Camr  sT  fiut,  dHibonie 


f  i 


I 


(f 


But  her  godmother  did  not  wait  for  explana- 
tions. Sir  Richard  had  killed  her  taste  for 
them-— he  had  so  many  for  one  sin,  and  all  so 
different,  that  it  was  not  surprising. 

"  You  must  let  me  launch  you,"  was  all  she 
said. 

Jane  laughed  for  joy,  It  was  such  plain 
sailing,  and  she  did  so  long  to  be  happy  and 
forget  the  whole  duty  of  woman  as  preached 
by  the  Wilton  family.    She  rose  to  go. 

"Good-bye,  dear."  Lady  Jane  kissed  her 
new-found  godchild  with  effusion.  She  had  a 
meeting  at  two  on  the  disposal  of  superfluous 
women,  and  the  thought  was  depressing.  How 
could  she,  one  of  the  most  superfluous  of 
women,  dispose  of  the  others  ? 

But  Jane  departed  feeling  as  if  someone  were 
waving  chiffon  through  her  cloudy  brain.  She 
paid  a  mysterious  visit  to  a  house-agent,  and 
wrote  a  note  to  Lady  Jane,  after  securing  a  fur- 
nished house  and  its  stamped  note  paper. 

Lunch  time  had  long  passed  when  Mrs. 
George  Wilton  arrived  at  her  suburban  flat,  to 
find  Sarah  yawning  in  a  big  chair  by  the  win- 
dow. 

42 


.  ■.»«.-■,.-,  a  ^ 


C^e  Cateer  oT  fRxn.  ftHOmtn 

"  You've  been  away  a  century,"  said  Miss 
Egerton,  crossly.  "  I  suppose  she  kicked  you 
out.  Your  frills  weren't  wasted  on  her  foot- 
man, I  dare  say.  Did  she  make  you  feel  small  ? 
Oh,  I've  been  so  bored!  I  have  had  nothing 
to  do  but  count  fourteen  women  with  purple 
faces  playing  tennis  in  the  square,  and  each 
one's  skirt  was  four  inches  longer  in  the  back 
than  in  the  front.  Why  docs  the  suburban 
woman  think  there  is  something  immoral  in 
a  smart  short  skirt  ?  " 

"  Eve  did  not  bother  about  her  toilet  or  the 
lack  of  it  till  she  met  the  devil,"  said  Jane,  sen- 
tentiously.  "  They  haven't  met  him.  Nowa- 
days it  is  worse  to  be  suburban  than  American ; 
even  Colonials  are  better  than  dwellers  in  Su- 
burbia." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  about  Imperialism," 
said  Sarah,  petulantly.  "  I  want  to  hear  your 
adventures.  And  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  I 
won't  live  here  I  " 

'*  You  needn't,"  said  Jane,  concisely.  "  She 
asked  us  to  a  ball  next  week.  Have  you  a 
gown?" 

"Have  I  a  gown?  I've  four  gowns.  Did 
43 


WK 


^t€mtt  or  iKtu.  ^>iamnt 


ii 


she  really  ask  us  ?   It  is-"  in  a  tone  of  concen- 
tratcd  fear—"  all  right?" 
Jane  nodded. 

"  You  see  before  you— Mrs.  Osborne!"  she 
said.    "  Lady  Jane  says  so." 

"What?"  The  gentle  Sarah's  voice  was 
slightly  shrill. 

"  It  must  be  Osborne,  or  no  ball."  Jane's 
voice  was  languid.  "  And  I've  taken  a  house 
in  Eaton  Place." 

"I  see:  'no  ball.'  like  cricket!  Yet,  after 
all,  what's  in  a  name?— except  to  the  Wiltons. 
But  Mr.  Van  Ingen,"  brutally,  "  where  does  he 
come  in  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  till  I  see  him,"  coolly,  though 
her  face  flushed. 

"And  this  flat?"  stupidly. 

"  Is  for  Wilton  letters  and  Wilton  visits," 
quietly.  "  We  put  a  maid  in  it  and  come  and 
go  as  it  is  necessary.  No  Wilton  shall  ever 
see  Mrs.  Osborne— or  Lady  Jane." 
^^  "Oh!"  said  Sarah.  She  rose  with  a  skip. 
"  Well,  now  let  us  think  what  I  shall  wear  to 
the  ball.  Blue?  Yes,  blue,  the  immortal  crea- 
tion of  my  dear  Paquin."  And  as  Jane  had 
cast  care  away,  so  did  she,  to  all  appearance. 

44 


CHAPTER  IV 


A  DEAD  UON 


The  rooms  at  Lady  Jane's  were  full,  very 
full;  yet  the  new  goddaughter  was  noticed, 
most  carefully  noticed.  The  fame  of  the  for- 
tune of  Jane  Osborne  had  crossed  the  Atlantic, 
but  wealth  at  a  distance  is  not  really  interest- 
ing, and  in  this  case  distance  had  lent  disen- 
chantment, for  certainly  no  one  had  ever  heard 
of  her  good  looks.  Now  the  view  was  too  al- 
luring. 

Mrs.  Osborne  wore  white,  white  with  the 
shine  of  moonlight  on  it,  and  in  her  eyes,  too, 
was  moonlight.  She  had  plenty  of  partners, 
and  if  she  kept  some  blanks  in  her  card 
no  one  saw  them.  She  stood  discoursing  to 
Sir  Richard  Mandeville,  who,  of  all  men  in 
London,  had  the  most  brains  and  the  quickest 
eye  for  the  charms  of  a  woman.    But  in  spite 

45 


L' 


''■'•■'-^"'-^■''''■'''''^'■"^''^"'^■^"'■^'^^^^  , 


Ctie  €axm  of  ffivfL  fDiOmnt 


1 


i 


I J 


of  his  outspoken  admiration  she  was  bored,  and 
more.  Her  eyes  ached  with  looking  for  the 
man  she  had  come  to  find;  and  her  heart,  too, 
ached,  in  spite  of  the  introduction  to  the  great 
world  her  godmother  had  given  her  that  night. 
As  her  host  led  her  through  the  hall  they  were 
mobbed  by  a  well-bred  crowd,  whose  stares 
at  the  new  star  were  too  intent  to  be  reassur- 
ing to  Jane,  even  though  her  companion  en- 
joyed them. 

"  They  are  worse  than  a  mob  of  cattle  look- 
ing at  a  red  umbrella,"  said  she,  calmly. 

Sir  Richard  laughed,  being  for  once  grate- 
ful to  his  wife. 

"  You  are  the  red  umbrella,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  hear  him.  She  saw  a  man  lean- 
ing against  the  wall.  He  was  tall,  with  sleepy 
gray  eyes  that  she  knew  could  sparkle  like  the 
sea  in  the  sun;  and  his  clean,  hard  chin  with 
the  little  cleft  in  it,  his  determined  mouth,  were 
printed  on  her  heart  with  indelible  distinctness. 
That  mouth  had  spoken  the  awful  words  that 
turned  life  into  ashes  for  Jane  Egerton,  when 
he  had  said  he  never  meant  to  marry,  and  said 
truly.     The  Wild  World  was  his  everlasting 


f  ' 


C»e  €$mt  of  jtttn  iDfixmt 

portion— the  sea,  the  sound  of  wind  in  the  rig- 
ging, the  rip  of  the  paddle,  the  sleep  under  the 
stars.    All  these  things  made  life  for  him,  not 
the  arms  of  a  woman,  even  of  the  woman  he 
worshiped.    If  he  could  have  had  all,  indeed  f 
But  to  the  poor  man  only  one  thing  comes,  and 
Van  Ingen  chose  his— with  soft  words,  yet  he 
chose  it.    Now  that  he  was  a  millionaire,  the 
woman  who  looked  at  him  knew  a  choice  was 
no  longer  necessary.     For  her,  life  with  him 
would  have  been  heaven.    It  is  always  so  when 
a  woman  plays  the  game  of  life  with  gold  and 
the  man  plays  with  counters.     Her  admiring 
companion,  who  knew  he  was  one  of  the  most 
attractive  men  in  London,  was  quite  happy, 
even  to  beaming  at  Lady  Jane.    To  his  wife's 
goddaughter  he  was  only  a  little  pebble  on  the 
side  of  the  river  of  life,  and  while  she  pre- 
tended to  listen  to  him  her  eyes  looked  long 
and  long  at  the  man  against  the  wall.    As  if 
he  had  suddenly  awakened  from  sleep,  Van 
Ingen  started.    For  a  moment  the  two  pairs  of 
eyes  were  locked;  the  next  he  was  through  the 
crowd  and  at  her  side. 
"  Ah,  Van  Ingen,  I  see  you  know  Mrs.  Os- 

47 


C^e  Career  of  ifttn  i2)jaortie 


If 


<) 


(  i 


M' 


borne! "  said  Sir  Richard,  genially.    He  was 
surprised  to  find  the  two  acquainted,  but  as 
he  had  to  join  his  wife  to  welcome  Royalty  he 
bowed  the  celebrated  bow  that  had  reduced  the 
hearts  of  so  many  women  to  pulp,  murmured 
he  hoped  she  would  remember  her  promise  to 
him  of  the  tenth  dance,  and  vanished.     Mr. 
Van  Ingen  took  Mrs.  Osborne's  hand  and  put 
it  on  his  arm.    He  held  it  rather  high,  close  to 
his  side;  and  she  felt  his  heart  beating  like  a 
trip-hammer.     Without   speaking   they  went 
down  the  steps  to  a  little  door  that  led  to  a  tiny 
garden— empty  as  Paradise. 

"  The  grass  is  wet."  Mrs.  Osborne  hesi- 
tated on  the  edge.  Did  she  fear  the  dampness 
for  her  feet,  or  the  darkness  of  the  shadows  for 
her  heart? 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  fairy  lamps  Van  In- 
gen took  her  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  her 
to  a  couple  of  chairs  in  the  shadow.  He  trem- 
bled a  little  as  he  put  her  down  gently,  and  his 
old  tyrannical,  barbaric  love  for  her  swept  over 
him  like  a  wave  out  of  a  smooth  sea. 

From  the  doorway  Sarah  saw  him.  No  one 
else  did,  for  Miss  Egerton  blocked  the  view— 

48 


Cte  Career  of  iftrn  t>iamnt 


shouJders  were  worn  wide  t:.at  year.  She 
turned  so  sternly  that  her  partner  asked  her 
what  was  wrong. 

"  Not  the  ice."  replied  she.  "  It  was  very 
good.  I  am  thinking  of  the  proverb:  *  Better 
a  living  dog  than  a  dead  Hon.*  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  it?  "  asked  the  be- 
wildered man. 

"  I  mean  that  it  is  better  to  risk  everything 
to  find  out  that  the  lion  you  worship  is  dead 
than  it  is  to  worship  him  as  a  live,  far-away 
king  with  whom  you  lived  in  the  past.  Most 
men— most  lions— sign  their  own  death  war- 
rant, because  no  lion  can  live  and  be  good  in  a 
cage." 

"You  mean  they  bite  their  keepers?"  said 
the  man. 

"Exactly,"  she  assented.  "And  then  one 
loves  one's  own  dear,  gc  d  dog  again." 

"  A  pet  lion  often  leaves  a  scar,"  with  a 
laugh.    "  He  gets  too  aflfectionate,  he " 

"Oh,  no,  he  can't!"  interrupted  Sarah. 
Perhaps  she  was  chilly,  for  she  shuddered  as 
she  continued  her  reflections  to  herself. 

"Jane  can  keep  her  head,"  thought  she. 
*  49 


MMta 


■'«i   ■«*■  (Mi; 


,m«  iijij'n' 


€»e  €mn  of  jUgi;  tMamt 


'  Van  Ingen  always  was  peculiar.    Hcwutoo 
uiwelfiih  ages  ago.  and  unielfishnew  in  a  man 
It  usually  inspired  by  poverty  in  the  girl. 
Therefore  he  will  probably  be  selfish  now;  he 
w,Il  believe  that  he  has  never  forgotten  his  love 
^or  Jane.     And  as  he  takes  love  in  long 
draughts,  just  as  he  takes  his  excursions  in^ 
the  wiW  places  of  the  earth   with   all   his 
■trength.  there'll  be  trouble." 

Van  Ingcn  did  not  ask  Mrs.  Osborne  any 
hITau  ^°"l^  *^'  '''  '^"  ^^^^^'"^  them 

define  anTHH*^"'  '"  ''°"^  "^'^  J*"*  ^•»- 
deville.  and  d,d  not  want  to  be  told  the  detail. 

nit  him'"'    ^'^'^»^^«"^-<»  her  husband, 


so 


CHAPTER  V 

A  BMKATH  OW  UBIBTY 

"  A»i  these  all  the  letters? "  Jane  looked  at 
the  one  maid  with  her  lovely  smile. 

"Yes,    m'm.      The    two    gentlemen    who 
called—"    The  maid  hesitated  almost  stupidly, 
though  she  was  not  at  all  a  stupid  girl.    It  was 
only  that  she  had  never  imagined  anyone  so 
beautiful  as  her  new  mistress  looked  to-day. 
It  was  not  Mrs.  Wilton's  clothes— they  were 
plain  enough,  nor  her  hat— which  was  not,  but 
herself.     Her  rose-and-white  smile,  the  soft 
starriness  of  her  eyes,  her  radiancy  that  seemed 
to  light  the  dingy  little  narrow  pa     ^,..     •  She 
was  good-looking   when   she   eng.iged   me," 
thought  the  dazed  Adams,  "  but  she  ;  a  thou- 
sand times  more  so  now."    Then  she  realized 
that   she  had  stopped   in   the   middle  of  a 
sentence.    "  They  were  very  sorry  not  to  find 
you  at  home,"  she  ended,  hastily. 
"You  said ?" 

SI 


■*i».    i<ll>  W>i>    nil 


•!•*» 


Cte  €mn  or  futn.  €>«nm 


Y«i,  m'm.    Ai  you  told  m«." 

Mri.  Wilton  nodded. 

"  Then  tea,  pletse.  Adams,"  and  the  fol- 
lowed  Sarah  into  the  microscopic  drawing- 
room.  It  looked  very  unused  for  the  abode  of 
a  fortnight,  and  this  rather  struck  Jane.  '*  We 
ought  to  get  more  s  ttled  looking,  really,"  ahe 
Mid.  ••  You  know.  Sarah,  we've  been  here 
long  enough." 

Sarah  made  no  answer,  but  stretched  herself 
on  the  solid  sofa  with  a  reckless  display  of 
faultless  shoes.  "  Jane,  will  you  ever  forget 
The  Cedars'  farewell?  Colonel  Wilton's  pon- 
derous growls  in  the  background  were  really 
like  distant  thunder.  How  could  you  be  so 
brave  as  to  Ic-ve?  I  should  have  w-pt  and  re- 
mained." 

'•It  was  I  supplied  the  lightn  ,^."  grimly. 

Dont  thi:k  about  it."  and  she  recklessly 
pushed  her  best  bodice  into  a  drawer  too  smaU 
for  it. 

Across  the  garden  were  other  flats  in  other 
high  brick  mansions,  and  ever  since  the  impos- 
ir-  arrival  of  two  smart  young  women  and 
wuiidcrful  dressing  bags  at  No.  i6,  Rossetti 

$2 


-^  (»..  •U,*..*,^  ^, 


fSTlUMim'Vfi 


C^e  €mn  or  fM.  HHOmm 


Mansiont,  a  lady  with  an  opera  glass  had  been 
enraged  in  sUring  in  at  their  windows  from 
the  flat  opposite.  Sarah  observed  her  with  dis- 
approval. 

"  I  shall  give  that  old  person  something  to 
see,"  she  said,  and  lit  a  cigarette  in  front  of  the 
window  with  a  joy  only  marred  by  being  una- 
ble to  see  the  countenance  behind  the  opera 
glasses.  "  What  was  in  the  letters?  '■  she  in- 
quired,  suddenly. 

"  Nothing.    Just  settling  for  to-night,  and 
iorry  to  have  missed  us  when  they  called.    It's 
lucky  they  write  more  letters  about  themselves 
than  Horace  Walpole,  or  they  might  have  gone 
on  missing  us.    I  could  have  borne  it,"  dryly 
"  if  they  had  stayed  with  Amelia." 
Sarah's  lip  straightened. 
"  I  think  they'll  be  refreshing."  she  said,  just 
as  dryly.    "  At  all  events,  they  have  come  up, 
and  as  we  have  to  dine  with  them  we  may  as 
well  think  we  like  it.    Perhaps  you'd  rather  be 
dining  with  Royalty,  but  I  wouldn't.    Give  me 
my  little  amusements." 

Jane  chuckled.    Somehow  it  was  very  funny 
—Jane  Wilton  coupled  with  Royalty. 

S3 


^»  €$mt  or  jlita  gxtwrne 


/  I 


%:  m  r 
O.I   it*. 


I  wouldn't,  for  that  would  plctie  th« 

They'd  be  much  aiif  rier  at  my  din- 

estaurant  with  their  Mcred  Hopkins. 

4St  leven !    Come  and  dreii.    It  will 

•nt  hiPtt  to  get  ui  into  Charlet  street 

by  I  qu..rii^-pa  *  ''  ht." 

If  t.v,k  .  Hying  departure,  indeed,  that 

mnri    I.      ,        ved  the  trifling  fact   that 
tve.v  derM.c..  ,  .  the  flat  was  observing  their 
ex.i  with  deep  interest.    Jane  had  taken  a  sub- 
urhan  flat,  thinking  it  would  be  more  retired, 
qu.cter.    She  had  made  no  allowance  for  sub- 
urban curiosity      The  neighbors  gazed  with 
disapproval  at  Jane's  curled  head  and  Sarah's 
high-heelecl  shoes  as  they  disappeared  into  the 
hansom.    A  man  standing  at  the  nearest  point 
of  vantage  caught  the  name  of  the  restaurant 
where  they  were  dining,  flung  out  in  Jane's 
high,  sweet  voice  as  she  dros  e  oflF,  and  he  whis- 
tled to  the  empty  air. 

Meanwhile  the  unconscious  dames  drove  on 
joyfully.  How  shocked,  how  ill  would  their 
relations  be  if  they  could  only  see  theml 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing?  "  inquired 
the  ambrosially  arrayed  O'Hara  at  dinner. 

54 


C^e  €mn  or  0Lt$.  €>0mm 


"  You  ought  to  have  done  all  »ortt  of  things 
in  thii  fortnight.  Ha\"e  you  been  aikcd  about 
much?  Or  do  you  want  to  be?  Would  you 
go  to  the  Duchcsi  of  Atton't  dance  if  I  got 
cards?" 

"VVett  Kensington  flats  aren't  asked  to 
duchesses'."  Jane  laughed  her  lovely  laugh  as 
she  said  it.  "No,  no!  Don't  get  us  cards  for 
anything.  We'd  rather  just  dine  quietly  with 
you  and  Mr.  Hopkins."  The  heart  of  Hopkins 
bounded.  "  When  you  go  to  the  Duchess's  we 
will  sit  quietly  in  our  suburb  and  imagine  you." 
"  You'll  have  to  imagine  very  hard.  I  sha'n't 
go  where  you  are  not  going.  As  for  Hopkins, 
he  never  goes  out." 

Something  like  relief  lighted  Mrs.  Wilton's 
eyes. 

"  Bores  me,"  said  Mr.  Hopkins.  "  Tired  of 
their  old  beauties  and  don't  want  to  be  of  their 
new  ones—all  paint  and  French  dressmaker! " 
He  looked  at  Jane's  clean  cheek  and  sweetly 
simple  little  gown.  "Though  there's  the 
usual  story  this  year.  They  say— well,  they 
say  she's  a  revelation !    But  I  don't  believe  it." 

The  azalea  face  his  eyes  were  on  paled  a  lit- 


^^mtt  or  ffittL  tf)tfiortie 


tit.  With  the  Background  in  town  and 
"entertaining  Iargei>."  Mrs.  George  WUton, 
who  could  never  go  to  his  parties,  had  per- 
haps no  desire  to  hear  of  the  woman  who 
could. 

"  I'm  told  she  really  is  exquisite—"  O'Hara 
was  a  great  man  for  justice.  "  I  must  meet 
her!  The  new  American  millionaire  is  running 
her.  At  least,  the  millionaire's  supposed  to 
have  discovered  her,  though  he  keeps  mightily 
m  the  background  and  swears  he  hardly  knows 
her." 

Only  Sarah  knew  what  sick  apprehension 
made  the  quick  coldness  in  Jane's  voice. 

"  What's  her  namer  "  she  said.  She  drank 
cold  Water  thirstily.  The  Background  must 
love  a  woman  if  he  would  Ke  for  her.  It  made 
her  murderous  to  think  of  any  other  woman's 
lips  at  his. 

"Name?  Osborne,  Mrs.  Osborne.  She— 
What's  the  matter?" 

Mrs.  Wilton  had  dropped  her  glass,  and  her 
sister  thought  she  could  see  her  heart  leaping 
under  the  crepe  bodice. 

"Mrs.  Osborne!    Is  she  your  new  beauty? 

56 


Z^t  career  or  fm.  tf)jaortie 


Why,"  with  a  laugh  of  wild  relief,  of  pleasure, 
for  the  Background  was  welcome  to  a  woman 
like  Mrs.  Osborne,  "  she's  not  a  beauty  at  alll 
I  don't  call  her  even  good-looking.  She's  as 
made  up  as  ever  she  can  be— certainly  not 
worth  while  going  out  of  your  way  to  see." 

Mr.  Hopkins  hid  a  smile  in  champagne.  His 
beloved  was  so  womanly  with  her  guess- 
work "made  up."  Mr.  O'Hara  was  bewil- 
dered. 

"  But  you  haven't  seen  her."  He  was  too 
polite  to  say  it  was  unlikely  she  ever  would. 

Jane  had  the  loveliest  laugh  in  the  world, 
the  laugh  of  a  beautiful  mouth  that  does  not 
care  if  you  see  every  tooth  in  it. 

"  Seen  her ! "  she  cried.  "  Why,  I  know  her. 
So  does  Sarah.  She's  a  relation  of  ours, 
though  she  has  never  had  much  to  do  with  us. 
But  she's  going  to  be  of  the  greatest  use  to 
us  while  we're  in  town.  Oh,  I  dare  say  men," 
scornfully,  " might  call  her  a  beauty!  She  al- 
ways has  shoals  of  them  about  her.  I  saw  her 
to-day.  She  was  going  to  meet  the  Duke  of 
Cornwall  at  dinner  to-night." 
Mr.  Hopkins  was  perturbed.    Shoals  of  men 

57 


» 1 
i 


.dJMlMiMii 


iKifei 


Cfte  camr  or  fUtiL  fOOmnt 


and  Royalty  were  no  surroundings  for  his 
sweet,  simply  mannered  Jane. 

"Dear  me  I"  said  he.  "will  you  see  her 
often  ? "  He  scented  danger  for  his  schemes  of 
possessive  dinners,  of  protective  theatre  parties. 
Instead,  would  he  have  to  call,  to  dine,  to  scour 
London  in  the  wake  of  the  relation  of  the 
beauty? 

"Very  often."  Jane  spoke  firmly.  "When 
my  •  in-laws '  come  up  to  town  and  want  us 
to  go  to  thuTi,  I  shall  always  be  going  to 
Mrs.  Osborne's.  You  see,  we  have  very  few 
friends  in  town  and  Mrs.  Osborne  will  be  con- 
venient." 

"  Has  she  ?  husband?  "  Mr.  Hopkins's  voice 
was  hollow.  The  husbands  of  beauties  were 
always  fast  or  drunken.  He  trembled  for  his 
Jane. 

"  He's  dead,"  she  said,  shortly.  "  There  are 
Mrs.  Osborne  and  her  father-in-law,  old  Mr. 
Osborne;  and  his  son,  Mr.  Howard  K.  Os- 
borne, on  a  visit  from  Boston,  U.  S.;  and  that 
is  all.  Old  Mr.  Osborne  and  Mr.  Howard  are 
going  to  take  us  wherever  we  want  to  go.  Mrs. 
Osborne  won't  want  us  to  bore  her.    And  I— 

58 


t^t  €mtt  of  ffitfL  ^lOmnt 


sometimes  I  am  afraid  she  bores  Sarah  a  lit- 
tle." 

"  I  see,"  said  O'Hara,  stiffly.  "  Are  they— 
nice?  They  sound— charming;"  sarcastic  ef- 
fort all  over  him. 

"Very  nice,"  returned  Sarah.  She  had 
taken  no  notice  of  Jane's  last  sentence.  She 
was  looking  her  prettiest,  her  curly  hair  shin- 
ing golden  in  the  pink-enwrapped  light—"  am- 
ber dropping"  hair,  Mr.  O'Hara,  being  sus- 
ceptible, had  fondly  called  it  to  Mr.  Hopkins. 
Many  men  were  susceptible  where  Sarah  was 
concerned.  "Can't  you  understand?"  Her 
little  teeth  showed  white  between  her  fresh  lips. 
"  The  Osborne  men  relations  do  not  exist.  We 
have  invented  them,  so  that  we  could  give 
names  and  dates  to  the  Wiltons.  There  is 
really  only  Mrs.  Osborne,  and  she  has  me  to 
lunch  and  gets  done  with  me.  I/' with  ungodly 
pride,  "  invented  her  men  relations." 

"No!  You  didn't  really  1"  O'Hara  was 
filled  with  admiration.  "  Let  me  be  Mr.  How- 
ard K.  Osborne,  of  Boston,  U.  S.  I  can  be 
such  a  good  American!  What  a  pity,"  with 
feeling,  "  that  the  Wiltons  know  me!    If  only 

59 


itiiii^ 


m^lg^a^j,^ 


.1 


1<I 


C^e  €axi..  or  fm.  it>fimnt 


you  could  introduce  me  as  Mr.  Howard  K. 
Osborne." 

"  You  would  spoil  it  all,"  said  Jane,  with  de- 
cision. "  Mr.  Hopkins  is  to  be  old  Mr.  Os- 
borne—to  the  Wiltons." 

Mr.  Hopkins  remembered  sharply  that  he 
was  thirty-nine.    He  made  an  effort  to  smile. 

"It's  simply  splendid!"  the  correctly  lan- 
guid O'Hara  spluttered  with  rapture. 

"Gorgeous!"  echoed  the  old  Mr.  Osborne, 
faintl; .  Then  with  a  flash  of  manly  insight : 
"  Whenever  you  say  you  are  going  to  the  Os- 
bomes,  you  will  come  somewhere  with  us." 

"  Oh,  no,"  returned  Jane,  with  crushing  can- 
dor, "  not  at  all.  It  is  to  cover  up  our  going 
where  we  choose  that  we  have  created  the  Os- 
horntsr-p^re  et  His.  Whenever  we  do  not 
want  my  relatives  we  shall  say  we  are  going  to 
the  Osbornes." 

Sarah  yawned. 

"  We  are  going  home  now,"  she  announced. 
"  We  arc  tired." 


60 


I^HK 


.,.-..,„     -,:-..■ . 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  TROUBLES  OF  A  FLAT 

"Jane!"  said  Sarah,  shaking  the  calmly 
sleeping  form,  "Jane!" 

Jane  started  up,  justly  exasperated. 

"  Good  heavens,  what  a  vice  you  have  for 
early  rising  I  .What's  the  matter?  And  a  wet 
morning,  tool  You  might  let  me  sleep  on  a 
wet  morning." 

"  The  bath  won't  run.  And  you  never  could 
have  looked  at  this  flat ;  there  isn't  any  dining- 
room." 

"  Well,  I  knew  that.  We  aren't  ever  going 
to  dine  here,  so  what  would  be  the  good  of 
one?  There's  a  sweet  kitchen  with  rows  of 
white  china  and  a  gas  stove  "  severely. 

"  Oh,"  said  Sarah,  darkly.  "  Well, /V^  had 
a  bath."  She  enveloped  herself  in  a  blue  silk 
garment  and  departed,  leaving  Jane's  nose  once 
more  buried  in  the  bolster. 

6i 


S  V 


■»••■•-* 


S 


C^e  €$tnt  of  iKtu  «ttionie 


After  all,  it  wai  a  cheerful  novelty  to  break- 
fast in  a  kitchen,  and  a  gas  stove  made  excel- 
lent toast.     It  was  not  so  very  hot  in  the 
kitchen,  if  you  kept  the  window  and  the  door 
open  and  sat  between  them.    Miss  Egcrton  en- 
couraged her  outraged  maid  to  pour  her  a  third 
cup  of  coffee.    That  damsel  was  convinced  that 
her  mistresses  were  mad,  but  she,  at  least,  would 
be  primly  sane.    She  stood  behind  Miss  Eger- 
ton's  chair  with  a  bearing  of  pomp  suited  to  a 
banqueting  hall,  but  bursting  with  intelligence. 

"If  you  please.  Miss  Egcrton,"  as  Sarah 
looked  up  for  fresh  toast,  "do  you  think  this 
flat  is  respectahlef  "  The  dark  meaning  was 
lost  on  Sarah. 

^^  "No.      No    flat    is    respectable,"    calmly. 

"without   a  dining-room.     Why,   Adams?" 

For  the  face  of  the  factotum  was  portentous. 

"  Well,  Miss  Egerton,  last  night  I  took  a 

walk  in  the  garden  after  you  went  out,  and  I 

heard  them  all  wondering  who  we  could  be. 

'Three  pretty  young  women,'  one  man  was 

saying  as  I  passed;  the  ignorant  wretch  had  no 

idea,"  with  a  conscious  smirk,  "as  how  I'm 

your  maid." 

63 


MiiMiifi 


naMI 


■m 


C9e  €$xm  or  fM.  fi>0amit 


"  Even  that  couldn't  make  you  ugly,  Adami. 
If  that  all?" 

"  No,  MiM  Egerton,  it's  not!  The  window 
tcroM  from  mine  in  the  next  flat  looks  straight 
into  my  bedroom,  and  a  horrid  man  sat  in  it 
all  the  evening  and  stared  in  at  me.  And  when 
I  got  up  after  you  had  come  in,  to  see  that  the 
door  was  locked,  there  he  still  was,  glaring  in, 
and  me  in  my  nightdress." 

"  Don't  look  out  of  the  window,"  practically. 
"  I  hear  Mrs.  Wilton  calling,  Adams." 

"  Hear  me  calling!  I  should  think  so."  A 
wrathful  apparition  stood  in  the  doorway, 
swathed  in  white.  "  The  bath  won't  run  out; 
it's  full  of  gallons  of  cold  water  where  you  had 
your  bath." 
"  I  told  you  so." 

"  You  said  it  wouldn't  run.    I  thought  you 
meant  the  cold-water  tap,  and  I  didn't  care,  be- 
cause I  always  use  hot  water.    But  it  won't  run 
out,  and  I  want  my  breakfast." 
"  Dip  it  out  then." 

"  If  you  had  the  Christian  habit  of  hot  baths 
it  would  have  run.  Hot  water,"  crossly,  "  will 
always  run.    This  flat  is  perfectly  beastly  I " 

63 


1^ 

I 


-I 


.(I 
li 


li 


'  ) 


€»  Career  of  fMk  ^Httiorw 

"There  it  a  tweet  kitchen  with  rowt  of 
white  china  and  a  gat  ttove." 

But  Jane  wat  gone,  and  toundt  of  woe  and 
dipping  were  rising  from  the  bathroom.  The 
early  riser  determined  to  persist  in  vice. 

In  the  morning  they  went  shopping  in  the 
long  roads  of  Suburbia,  because  Jane  said  they 
were  poor.  Sarah  ruined  her  skirt  in  climbing 
up  and  down  from  the  tops  of  (minibuset,  and 
Jane  got  her  feet  wet.  They  lunched  at  a 
ladies'  restaurant,  because  Jane  vowed  nerv- 
ously that  someone  she  knew  might  be  at 
Prince's — ^Jane  Wilton,  who  knew  six  people 
in  London!  Sarah  gave  way  to  unbecoming 
language  when  she  found  she  could  have  noth- 
ing to  drink  but  tea  or  coffee.  They  had  coffee, 
and  they  expended  ten  shillings.  Jane  paid  the 
bill  morosely. 

"  No  more  ladies'  restaurants,"  she  said, 
grimly,  as  she  squelched  with  wet  feet  into  the 
inside  of  an  omnib'i?,  for  it  was  raining  like 
Niagara.  She  explained  as  they  rumbled  to- 
ward the  flat  that  having  ruined  th«  ,  boots, 
it  was  not  worth  while  to  pay  for  a  .  nsom 
too  late  to  save  them.    Sarah  knew  it  was  for 

64 


1  a 


!>' 


.*%»•_  t,  *, 


igmmiMki 


•  — ■•'• 


.^»  .-^. — ^ 


1 


C^  Career  of  fML  ftfimnt 


quite  another  rctfon.    There  it  no  shelter  like 
an  omnibtit  for  uncurled  and  dowdy  wetness. 

Mr.  Hopkins  and  Mr.  O'Hara  had  been  ad- 
vised that  to  come  to  tea  would  be  useless,  but 
they  had  sent  a  humble  telegram  suggesting 
dinner  at  the  Carlton;  they  had  even  been  so 
fearful  of  disappointment  as  to  come  to  convey 
their  divinities  thither.  But  Jane  insisted  on  an 
Italian  restaurant  in  Oxford  street.  She  said 
she  disliked  Prince's,  the  Carlton  and  the  Cecil. 

After  dinner  Mr.  O'Hara  beseechcd  them  to 
come  on  somewhere.  He  murmured  of  the 
Palace.  Mr.  Hopkins  frowned  sternly.  He 
felt  himself  responsible,  especially  for  Jane, 
who  was  the  prettier. 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dear  chap,  they  wouldn't 
like  it."  He  was  very  protective.  "  We  might 
go  to  the  Grosvenor  Qub  if  you  like,  or  to  see 
Irving.    I've  a  box." 

Jane  was  remarkably  tired;  also,  she  loathed 
theatres  and  clubs. 

"  Get  two  hansoms  and  we'll  go  home,"  she 
onnmanded.  "You  may  come  in  for  five 
minutes." 

She  had  meant  one  hansom  for  herself  and 
5  65 


I^Lji^ 


C4c  €$tm  or  iHw  Wbam 


ii 


Sarah,  but  Mr.  Hopkini  wm  too  quick  for  her. 

"Oh,  you're  going  with  Billy,"  he  said, 
sweetly,  to  the  less  divine  Sarah,  and  he  leaped 
nimbly  in  beside  Jane.  But  when  they  arrived 
at  Rossetti  Mansions  there  was  no  second  han- 
som behind  them. 

"  Sarah  must  be  here."  said  Jane,  as  they 
entered  the  fourth-story  flat  after  a  weary 
climb.  But  Sarah  was  not  there.  Hopkins  did 
not  repine, 

"  This  is  very  nice,"  he  observed  when  he 
was  in  the  drawing-room.  He  had  been  ap- 
palled at  the  narrow  darkness  of  the  entry. 
"  The  stairs  are  a  little  steep,  though." 

"  We  don't  mind  them.  You  are  getting 
old,"  returned  the  practical  Jane.  "  You  would 
never  guess  who  lives  in  the  flat  below  us." 

She  pulled  up  the  blinds  to  let  in  the  cool 
night  air,  and  the  modest  interior  was  plainly 
visible  to  the  dwellers  opposite  as  Sarah  came 
in,  followed  by  O'Hara.  The  lady  with  the 
opera  glass  hung  breathless  from  her  balcony. 

"  Well,  O'Hara,  you  have  been  quick."    Mr. 
Hopkins  wore  a  meaning  smirk. 
"  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

66 


HHIto 


mm 


f  ! 
i  ■ 


; 


C9e  Career  of  0t$,  fHOiaciie 

"  AH  over  town  in  a  haniom."  Sarah  w»7 
pink  and  frcth  from  the  night  breese.  "  We 
thought  of  going  to  supper,  but  we  weren't 
hungry  enough.  What  is  Mr.  Hopkins  look* 
ing  so  perturbed  about  ? " 

"  I  want  to  know  who  lives  below  yoti." 
Hopkins  did  mtt  approve  of  the  flat,  it  being 
too  far  from  St.  James's  street,  where  he  lived. 
He  had  also  had  suspicions  ever  since  he  set 
foot  on  the  stairs  of  Pos^etti  Mansions. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  Because  Mrs.  Wilton  says  it  is  somebody." 

"  Of  course  it's  somebody,  and  you  probably 
know  all  about  her,"  returned  Jane,  cheerfully. 
"  It's  Winnie  Wdlwood." 

"Not  tht  Winnie?  the  music-hall  Winnie? 
the  Duke's  Winnie?  "  Hopkins  sat  appalled. 

"  Yes." 

"Then  it  won't  do  for  you  to  stay  here. 
O'Hara,  do  you  hear  this?  " 

"  What  a  lark ! "  O'Hara  was  not  appalled. 
"Is  she  in  now?" 

"  What  a  lark  1  My  good  chap,  these  ladies 
can't  stay  here.  It  can't  be  respectable  if  they 
let  that  woman  a  flat" 

67 


C^  Cnartr  ar  iiityi  Ottom 


II 


"Ohl"  Tht  fnvity  of  tbt  titutUoii 
dawiMd  on  O'Htrt.  tvtti  while  he  compoMd 
hit  countmtnce  with  difficulty.  His  tyet  twin- 
kl€d.  "Ftncy  Winnie  here!  I  luppoM  the 
h*s  chenfcd  a  lot,"  regretfully.  "  She  uicd  to 
be  yrett  fun." 

Hopkins  frowned. 

"  You  must  let  us  get  you  tnother  flat.  Mrs. 
Wilton.  What  would  your  husband  say  if  he 
knew?" 

Mrs.  Wilton  took  a  rapid  survey  of  some 
pages  in  her  George's  past.  When  he  and  the 
Duke  had  lived  together  in  Charlotte  street, 
Winnie  had— but  no  matter.  Besides,  the  rent 
was  paid. 

"Another  flat?"  She  skipped  the  quea- 
tion  with  masterly  alacrity.  "  Of  course 
not  I  Winnie  won't  hurt  us.  It's  not  catch- 
mg. 

"  Move  again  f "  Sarah  was  agonized  with 
suppressed  laughter.  "  Not  till  I  have  to. 
Winnie  won't  eat  us.  She— she  won't  see 
enough  of  us." 

Jane  interrupted  hastily. 

"Our  maid  says  her  brougham  comes  for 
68 


_^ 


I 


7/i'  rushed  Mr   H,it<l'iii.<  in  ih,/  xvimiotv." 


\ 


,         ..^...J....^ ^-.JUtagj. 


cue  Citmr  of  fM^  iftftome 

her  every  night  at  nine  and  brings  her  home  at 
all  hours." 

"Here's  a  carriage f"  O'Hara  was  quite 
excited.  He  rush?d  Mr.  Hopkins  to  the  win- 
dow. 

"Hush!"  growled  the  virtuous  Hopkins, 
sternly,  as  Jane  and  Sarah  gave  way  to  wild 
laughter  at  the  spectacle  of  the  two  correct 
adorers  reclining  recklessly  on  the  balcony, 
their  heads  han^ng  over  the  railing  and  their 
feet  dangling  in  the  room.  "  Hush ;  don't  make 
a  noise!    It's  Winnie!" 

The  world  had  not  been  going  well  with 
Miss  Wellwood,  and  she  had  been  swamping 
sorrow.  Jane  and  Sarah  were  craning  from 
their  bedroom  window.  Below,  Miss  Well- 
wood  was  grabbing  at  the  railings  for  support 
and  addressing  her  coachman  in  unknown 
tongues. 

"  Don't  listen !  "  commanded  Mr.  Hopkins, 
hastily,  leaning  well  out  to  adjure  the  bedroom 
window.    "Don't!" 

The  anguish  in  his  voice  overcame  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton. She  laughed  till  the  clear,  sweet  sound  of 
it  fell  to  the  street  below.    Winnie  stopped  in 

69 


■  »  ■ >  liii  ■ 


imm  wii «  ■  .1  ■  ii»  1  m m ■  miii «  1—  n 


I  m  mm»]  ■  <»  m  1  .i  j  »  '"*^M[ 


€»  c»mr  of  jm»  £)tfMintt 


her  unsteady  career  and  gazed  upward,  half- 
drunk  and  all-malignant,  at  the  four  silhouettes 
against  the  lighted  windows.  Her  music-hall 
yell  carried: 

"I  s'posc  you  laugh  because  you've  been 
luckier  than  me  I "  and  she  pointed  at  the  two 
men. 

Mr.  Hopkins  shot  back  into  the  drawing- 
room,  disgustedly  brushing  himself  with  black 
and  grimy. hands  till  his  hostesses  appeared 
agam.  He  had  much  to  say,  but  Jane  cut  him 
short.  She  was  a  little  pale.  That  raucous 
voice  had  somehow  threatened  disaster. 
"  You  must  go  home  now,"  she  said,  wearUy  • 
we  are  sleepy."  ' ' 

^^  "  Oh,  not  yet."    O'Hara  was  suddenly  sad. 

1  am  just  beginning  to  feel  happy." 

"  You  can  ftel  happy  in  the  cab." 

So  with  regret  and  solemnity  the  adorers  de- 
parted.    The  lights  were  out  in  the  passage 
and  they  had  to  cling  closely  to  the  banisters' 
as  they  slowly  stumbled  downstairs. 

"  Did  you  impress  on  them  that  they  couldn't 
come  again  for  a  week  ?  " 

Jane  looked  years  younger  as  the  door  shut 
70 


Zt^t  €axm  of  iKtu  fDiOmtti 


on  them.    She  had  forgotten  ail  about  Winnie. 
"  I  did,"  morosely.    "  I— I  shall  rather  miss 
them." 

But  Mrs.  George  Wilton  only  gazed  radiantly 
at  her  reflection  as  she  took  the  pins  out  of  her 
hair.  "  After  all,  it  was  very  easy  to  "  lam 
aloose,"  and  Mrs.  Osborne  was  very  useful  and 
easy  to  manage. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  said  she  was  made  up,"  she 
murmured,  repentantly,  to  her  glass;  "so  un- 
grateful !  "  And  she  laugh«;d  just  as  Sarah  had 
laughed  when  the  freedom  of  the  flat  dawned 
on  her. 


rt 


13 

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H'^-ft'-viW.  «»,-»■• 


'  •'  -=.'vi<-4jw»«k/-=*"^ 


■■•"-■«»•*'»*;,■ 


CHAPTER  VII 

THl  NIW  BEAUTY 

Mrs.  Osborne  came  late  to  the  Duchess  of 
Aston's  dance,  the  dance  that  the  Hon.  Wa- 
liam  Craven  O'Hara  had  scorned  becaove  Miss 
Sarah  Egerton  refused  cards  for  it     It  was 
rather  a  pity,  since  thus  he  could  have  trmm- 
phantly  disproved  Mrs.  George  Wilton's  slurs 
on  her  smart  relation.    Yes,  Mrs.  Ori»me  was 
beautiful.     To  know  it  you  had  only  to  look 
at  the  women's  faces  of  dark  envy,  of  blank 
wretchedness,  as  she  passed  by  them.     There 
was  youth  in  her  exquisite  grace,  but  there  was 
no  simplicity.    She  was  exotic,  fine,  strangely 
sumptuous  and  unmodem ;  her  face  a  face  that 
might  have  smiled  on  dead  men  out  of  Circe's 
window  in  strange  lands  long  ago ;  cut  exquis- 
itely, as  to  show  the  gods  what  a  woman's  face 
could  be.    The  color  of  it  was  like  azalea  flow- 
ers, creaming  into  the  pink  that  is  the  pink  <^ 

72 


I 


K&JBtt^i&EiaiSEi&ill 


C^e  Camv  of  fML  tiDAome 

dawn,  not  of  roses.  She  carried  her  brown 
head  high,  with  a  curious  backward  loll  of  it 
on  a  flawless  throat,  and  under  her  slow  lids 
shone  the  eyes  of  a  woman  to  whom  the  world 
is  very  young. 

At  least  a  man  who  knew  her  thought  so. 
The  woman  next  him  was  only  wondering  why 
Mrs.  Osborne  was  not  looking  radiant  triumph 
and  provocation  at  the  gathering  cloud  of  men. 
Also,  if  that  plain  brown  were  beautiful  in  hair, 
it  was  a  pity  it  cost  two  guineas  a  week  to  keep 
hers  Titian  red. 

"What?"  She  was  absent  enough  to  be 
irritable,  but  hastily  recovered  herself.  "  Per- 
iectly  exquisite,  is  she  not  ? " 

"  A  woman  whose  mouth  is  scarlet  and  not 
crimson  goes  far,"  murmured  the  man  who  had 
bnn  thinking  of  Circe,  and  promptly  he  went 
far  himself — to  Mrs.  Osborne's  very  elbow. 
Her  foamy  skirts,  that  were  golden-threaded 
laae  an  dawn-yellow  chiffon,  on  something  pale 
fiame  under  that,  brushed  his  foot.  The  cost 
of  them  would  have  kept  Jane  Wilton  in  West 
Kensington  for  a  month.  The  faint,  keen  scent 
from  them  pleased  the  man,  just  as  did  the  inef- 

73 


mmm 


Hii 


ngmyi^ 


"aSEft^ 


t^  €axm  oC  iRtu  ^lOmnt 


V  I 


fable  unartncM,  the  grace  and  air  of  their 
wearer.  His  face  was  impassive,  chilly,  at  she 
turned  and  saw  him. 

"  There's  no  supper  yet,"  she  said,  with  a 
laugh.  "  I  wonder  why."  Her  face  was  lovely 
as  she  laughed,  even  if  the  sorceress  look  in 
it  was  intensified. 

Everyone  else  laughed,  too. 

"  Ask  the  Duke,"  said  a  man. 

"  Is  he  more  truthful  than  his  equerry?  I," 
placidly,  "  don't  like  equerries." 

"  He's  more  patient,"  said  the  equerry,  slow- 
ly.   "  To-night,  at  least,  he's  waited  an  hour." 

"  Oh,  not  for  me  I  Nobody  ever  waits  for 
me,"  serenely.    But  the  equerry  was  gone. 

Royalty,  simple-mannered  and  rather  in- 
jured was  at  her  side.  Mrs.  Osborne  liked 
Royalty,  who  was  a  gentleman,  as  all  Royalties 
are  not.  She  smiled  as  she  went  away  with 
him,  looked  her  loveliest  as  she  sat  beside  him 
at  a  table  where  even  the  Duchess  ceased  from 
troubling.  If  the  marvel  of  her  eyes  was  on  a 
hawk-faced  man  across  the  room,  no  one  knew 
it — particularly  the  man. 

Yet  when  the  Duke  was  gone  he  was  unos- 

74 


•->  !-j  -••.»•»-».  ,i»  ;...  .^  ,v 


mmt 


Cl^e  Camr  oC  fum.  iMxime 


tentatiously  beside  her,  and  he  laughed  as  she 
spoke  tranquilly. 

"  Once  round  the  room,"  said  Mrs.  Osborne. 
No  one  would  have  known  she  had  dressed  and 
come  just  to  waltz  once  round  the  Duchess's 
ballroom  in  Van  Ingen's  arms. 

His  shoulder  was  like  iron  under  her  hand, 
his  coat  so  near  to  her  cheek  the  dearest  thing 
in  the  world,  his  strong,  easy  hold  of  her — 
dear  God  I  to  have  had  his  arm  forever  between 
her  and  all  others!  She  made  him  stop,  be- 
cause the  sharp  thought  hurt  her. 

"  In  here,"  he  said.  The  room  was  empty. 
"  Now  sit  down  and  let  me  look  at  you.  I 
get  the  most  awful  feeling  every  now  and  then 
that  you  are  a  dream,  and  that  I'm  going  to 
wake  up." 

"  If  you  want  to  wake!  "  said  Mrs.  Osborne. 
A  childish  gayety  lighted  her  eyes.  "  It's  too 
funny,"  she  said.  "  You  and  I,  who  were  no- 
bodies, poor  nobodies — once !  " 

"  You  were  always  a  princess."  He  had  a 
trick  of  throwing  back  his  head  and  smiling, 
his  keen  eyes  very  sweet. 

Mrs.  Osborne's  laugh  was  as  young  as  Jane 
Wilton's  own. 

75 


« 


■'  >ii^  mmi^^'^'^mmm 


-j.w..i^^^,..jant...j-M.?i;.  ■— 


:4.Jlfe»ilT:L -    ""'■'»»«  ,^ 


Vtt  €mn  o(  ^tix$.  0tbom 


"  Whit  I  When  you  uicd  to  come  to  Atuit 
AdeU'f  by  the  back  gate  before  breakfiit,  and 
had  to  run  all  the  way  home  to  get  past  the 
other  houses  before  they  woke  up?  I  had  two 
hideous  cotton  frocks  she  made  me  wear,  black 
with  white  dots  on  them.  No  one  could  look 
like  a  princess  in  ^hite  dots." 

"  I  wish  I'd  got  up  earlier  and  run  more! " 
sharply.  "  I  wish  the  ship  that  took  me  away 
from  you  had  never  sailed.  Do  you  know  how 
I've  always  'rememl)ered  you  ?  In  one  of  those 
cotton  frocks,  kneeling  down  and  picking 
strawberries.  I  came  behind  you.  You  didn't 
expect  me." 

'•  Oh,  no! "  She  made  no  pretense  of  hav- 
ing forgotten.  "  I  didn't  expect  you.  I  was 
caught.  I  was  all  over  strawberries.  I  could 
have  cried." 

"  You  were  like  a  princess  dressed  up.  It 
was  no  surprise  to  me  when  I  found  you  like 
this.  I  knew  you'd  marry.  If  I  hadn't,  I— I 
think  I  shouid  have  gone  back  to  look  for  you." 

Mrs.  Osborne's  hand  pressed  her  fan  a  little. 

"Would  you  prefer  the  cotton  frock?"  the 
said,  languidly. 

76 


*"■»     ♦*!—•*  * 


t^Mffi^'L"*;  •  ■  --:''■: 


^^^Sj^^BSEESS^^S^S!^ 


5^=^ 


^s 


€»  Cttecr  of  0x$.  ftftcnte 

"No,  you  were  made  for  this!  If  I  had 
gene  bade 

**  It  might  have  been  to  find  you'd  lost  your 
tatte  for  cotton." 

"  It's  all  the  same    It's  you. " 

Somehow  Mrs.  Osborne  remembered  what 
time  it  was. 

"And — me — is  going  home,"  she  said, 
gayly. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I — "  he  rose  because  she 
did — "  I  never  danced  with  you  in  those  days? 
I  made  a  vow  I'd  never  dance  again  till  I  had 
the  girl  of  my  heart  in  my  arms." 

"Girls  are  out  of  fashion,"  observed  Mrs. 
Osborne,  sweetly.  She  had  seen  her  hostess's 
frock  in  the  doorway,  within  earshot. 

"I've  kept  the  vow,  all  the  same,"  he  re- 
turned, under  his  breath. 

It  was  the  Duke  of  Aston  who  put  Mrs. 
Osborne  in  her  carriage.  When  she  drove 
away  in  the  May  dawn  no  one  could  have 
thought  her  impassive,  indifferent  to  success. 
She  put  down  both  windows,  drank  the  wine- 
sweet  air  avidly,  widc-nostriled,  full  of  pride. 
Her  face  was  wicked  with  triumph.    She,  who 

77 


C9e  €mn  of  jKta  IHAome 


had  picked  strawberriet  in  her  aimt't  gardtn  in 
a  hideout  cotton  frock,  had  taken  the  town  by 
•torm ;  had  kept  the  heir  to  the  throne  waiting 
till  it  pleated  her  to  arrive;  had  the  detir«  of 
her  eyes,  the  love  of  her  heart  within  reach, 
when  the  choae  to  put  out  her  hand.    It  wat 
for  this  that  the  was  mad  with  joy.    No  matter 
what  happened,  the  would  never  let  him  go- 
while  he  wanted  her(    Ami  she  laughed.    She 
was  sure  of  him.    Poor  Jane  Wilton,  with  her 
white  frocks,  and  her  Background  f    But  Jane 
Wilton  was  no  actress,  perhaps,  and  carried  her 
head  a  little  forward  as  Nature  put  it,  and  let 
her  crimson  lips  alone.     Mrs.  Osborne  of  the 
scarlet  lips  would  have  the  kisses  that  Jane  had 
never  forgotten. 

With  money  and  unerring  taste  even  a  fur- 
nished house  in  Eaton  Place  may  be  made  soft- 
colored  and  individual,  a  dimly  gorgeous  set- 
ting to  the  loveliest  thing  in  it.  Mrs.  Osborne's 
house  was  that,  and  more.  Against  silks  thick 
with  silver  embroidery,  satins  worked  by  clois- 
tered nuns  for  princesses,  faint-colored  like 
sunsets  and  pale  dawns,  she  shone  sUrlike  in 
her  drawing-room ;  against  brocade  hangings, 

78 


,  !H4LLii„ 


Cte  Ctmr  of  mtn  ^Aam 


tht  ipotlt  of  forgottm  palaces,  iht  Mt  at  her 
dinner  Ubie.  But  for  her  bedroom  the  did  not 
care.  It  was  as  its  owner  left  it,  hideous, 
franki)  English ;  so  far,  the  only  room  in  the 
house  that  did  not  matter.  She  woke  up  in  it. 
and  laughed  as  she  saw  that  her  companion  had 
brought  the  chocolate,  instead  of  her  maid. 

"I  had  a  gorgeous  time!"  she  said.  "I 
nearly  woke  you  up  to  tell  you  of  it.  Oh,  why 
don't  you  go  about  with  me?  " 

The  companion  laughed. 

"  I'm  saving  money.  You  said  so  yourself 
the  other  day.  Here's  the  paper,  all  about  you ! 
And  the  Ladies'  Letter  in  the  pyorld  says  that 
'  to  be  a  K^auty  it  is  apparently  only  necessary 
t  do  one's  hair  low  and  wear  green  shoes.' 
1  told  you  someone  would  spot  those  shoes. 
Do  look  at  the  invitations.  How  shall  I  an- 
swer them?  Oh,  and  Lady  Alderney  says 
she'll  be  delighted  to  present  you  at  the  Draw- 
ing Room ! " 

"  I've  no  doubt  she  would,"  with  vigor.  "  It 
would  take  more  than  delight  to  get  me  to 
Court,"  chuckling.  "I'm — too  American  to 
spend  such  a  dull  morning.    I'll  accept  all  the 

79 


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CQe  Career  of  sax^  i^isbome 

nice  things,  though.  Lady  Lanark's  dinner 
dance — I  must  go  there.  Miles  Van  Ingen's 
river  party,  of  course.  I  wish  you'd  come — he 
said  to  bring  you.  Three  balls,  good  houses, 
too;  two  invitations  for  Ascot  week — they  can 
wait.  I  don't,"  thoughtfully,  "  want  to  crowd 
every  day  till  I  can't  turn  round.  What's 
that?" 

A  telegram  lay,  flimsy  and  ugly,  among  the 
smart  notes. 

"  It  was  among  what  I  got  last  night.  I 
didn't  show  it  to  you.  It's  for  Saturday  week," 
cheerfully. 

"  I  don't  care  two  straws,"  said  Mrs.  Os- 
borne, deliberately.  She  scribbled  a  list  of  en- 
gagements on  the  back  of  a  card.  "  On  Satur- 
day week  you  and  I  are  going  to— to  Hastings. 
Nothing  can  interfere  with  that.  You  can  '  un- 
avoidable absence  from  town'  all  these. 
They're  nearly  all  dull.  But  these—"  she  had 
put  six  invitations  together  neatly — "  I'll  man- 
age these.  I,"  composedly,  "will  dovetail 
them  in." 

They  were  all  places  where  Miles  Van  Ingen 
was  going. 

80 


CHAPTER  VIII 


A  FAMILY  PARTY 


The  fiat  looked  grubby  to  Mrs.  George  Wil- 
ton as  she  came  in.  Sarah,  very  heartlessly 
gay  in  her  best  tea  gown,  pitchforked  a  letter 
across  the  placid  tea  table  into  her  sister's  un- 
willing hand. 

"  Another  despatch,"  she  said.  "  That 
makes  five,  counting  the  telegram." 

Jane  tore  it  open,  groaned  and  read  aloud : 

"  Dear  Jane  :  We  hope  to  arrive  in  town 
this  afternoon  and  are  looking  forward  to  see- 
ing you  to-morrow.  Will  you  go  to  our  rooms 
(95,  Cromwell  road)  and  give  our  landlady  a 
few  last  directions?  Tell  her  we  shall  want 
dinner  at  seven,  soup,  fish,  whiting  or  haddock 
— six  small  ones,  Jane — be  sure  you  mention 
six,  and  small.  They  must  be  about  the  size 
of  a  herring,  and  she  is  to  fry  them.  Order  a 
6  81 


»<iik  ...I  •»  "*  *  • 


Cl^e  Career  of  fiitiL  ^leibome 


IM 


nice  vegetable— cauliflowers  are  good,  espe- 
cially at  night  after  a  long  journey.  We  like 
a  plain  pudding,  as  I  have  to  be  careful  what 
I  eat.  Will  you  order  stewed  prunes?— Col- 
onel Wilton  likes  them.  And  a  pennyworth  of 
fresh  cream  for  me.  Order  a  fourpenny  loaf 
of  bread.  On  Sunday  I  have  in  the  morning 
two  tumblerfuls  of  new  milk,  and  two  penny- 
worth of  cream  to  last  till  the  afternoon.  She 
must  get  the  same  quantity  fresh  in  the  even- 
ing. Now,  my  dearest  Jane,  I  am, 
"  With  much  love, 
"  Yours  affectionately, 

"  Isabella  Wilton." 

"  Do  buy  them  a  cow,"  said  Sarah,  crossly. 
"  It  would  save  so  much  calculation." 

"  We  shall  have  to  lunch  with  them  to-mor- 
row," Jane  announced,  forlornly. 

"  But  not  dine.  I  will  not  dine  there  on  Sun- 
day night.  We  are  dining  with  the  Osbornes. 
Will  dearest  Amelia  be  with  them  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  And  I  meant  to  have  had  such 
a  nice  Sunday !  "  wailed  Jane. 

"  Well,  don't  let's  go  near  them." 

82 


I  s 


Zl^t  Career  of  f^t^  Oieibome 

**  We  must ;  at  least  I  must.  There's  a  post- 
script that  they  expect  us  at  luncheon." 

"  I  shall  read  the  Pink  'Vn  in  bed  Ijefore  I 
go,  and  tell  all  the  anecdous.  There  was  a 
nice  one  last  week  about  town  Sundays." 

But  even  the  Iwld  Sarah's  heart  sank  as  they 
entered  the  respectable  lodgings  that  the  Wil- 
ton family  gilded  by  the  name  of  residential 
hotel.  Upstairs  the  sisters  toiled,  up  and  up 
again,  till  Sarah  was  breathless  in  her  best 
corset. 

"  Do  they  live  on  the  roof?  "  she  demanded, 
stopping  so  suddenly  that  Jane  nearly  fell  over 
her,  thereby  causing  an  unseemly  noise. 

"  Sh !    This  is  the  door." 

Sarah  sailed  in  behind  Jane's  train,  not  the 
same  Sarah  who  was  to  be  seen  at  Rossetti 
Mansions,  all  laughter  and  sweet  youth  fulness, 
but  a  pale  Sarah,  with  a  hard-set  lip.  She  held 
up  her  head  determinedly,  and  avoided  the  Wil- 
ton embraces  with  a  hand  pushed  stiffly  out 
before  her.  Jane,  alas!  dared  not  so  fortify 
herself.  Fach  and  every  Wilton  kissed  her 
with  eflfL..  ^n. 

"  Now  that  we  have  arrived,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 

83 


\ 


b-#  «h «  .„*,  n,  ^^  •  •    • 


'tl 


III 

' 

u 

II 

T 

1 

1 

;  1 

■  ,■ 

■'i 

] 

Z^t  career  of  fsitiL  tSDOmnt 


ton,  kindly,  "  you  will  be  able  to  go  out  a  lit- 
tle. I  dare  say  you  have  found  that  London  is 
a  very  dull  place  when  one  knows  no  one." 
She  could  say  "  I  told  you  so  "  to  Jane's  in- 
dependence, even  if  she  could  not  crush  it. 

"  Dull?  Oh,  no,  I  don't  think  we  have  been 
exactly  dull."  Jane's  eyes  were  guileless  and 
her  smile  truly  childlike. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  done  a  great  deal 
of  shopping,"  Amelia  said,  with  some  envy, 
though  she  assured  herself  as  she  said  it  that 
Jane's  pale-pink  muslin  and  Alengon  lace  were 
not  pretty  at  all— there  was  no  stiff  collar. 
"  You  have  on  a  very  peculiar  bodice,  and 
surely  those  are  new  pearls  ?  " 

"  Are  they  ?  "  carelessly.  "  I  almost  forget 
what  I  have  bought." 

Mrs.  Wilton  looked  alarmed. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  spending  too  much,  my 
dear.    George " 

"  Oh,  I  never  take  any  money  from  George," 
calmly.  "  He  has  his  and  I  have  n  ine.  I 
should  hate  taking  money  from  my  hus- 
band." 

Colonel  Wilton  grunted  an  approving  grunt. 

84 


CQe  Career  of  iHris.  €)jn»me 


Would  that  he  had  trained  his  Isabella  to  such 
heights ! 

Isabella  sat  knitting  furiously. 

"  Really,  Jane."  she  said,  with  a  vexed 
laugh,  "  you  stick  at  nothing.  It  sounds  quite 
improper  to  speak  of  money  and  your  husband 
like  that.  Pray  remember  Eveyln  and 
Amelia." 

"  And  Sarah,"  lightly.  "  But  my  improper 
sentiments  can't  corrupt  them,  since  they 
haven't  any  husbands." 

••  Sarah  is  looking  a  very  bad  color — "  be- 
ing routed,  Mrs.  Wilton  attacked  in  a  new  place 
— "  and  very  thin." 

Sarah  grew  scarlet. 

"  Green  blinds,"  she  said,  determined  to  be 
calm.    "  They  make  us  all  look  frightful." 

"  No,  I  think  it  is  perhaps  that  your  frock 
is  too  trying  for  you." 

But  Sarah  did  not  respond.  With  her  other 
ear  she  heard  Colonel  Wilton  engaging  Jane, 
who  had  let  them  know  that  she  had  gone  to  see 
Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell. 

Mrs.  Wiivon  also  had  heard. 

"  I  hope  you  did  not  go  alone,  Jane." 


8S 


g^t  €itttt  Of  iHtiB.  ©jjwne 


i 


ii 


••Oh.  no."    Jane  settled  hersdnnorc  com- 
ortably  ,n  her  uncomfortable  chair  and  care- 
hilly  avoided  Sarah's  eye. 
"  Who  went  with  you?" 

friend;"'TT'  r'T   ^""   ""^   "'^   ^-^-^ 
inends.      1  hus  hvelyn  and  A.nella. 

Neither  have  we— many." 

Jane  paused,  and  Sarah  sat  appalled.    What 

was  the  matter  with  her?    Had  she  lost  her 

put  m.  br,skly.     "  You   remember  my  hav- 
2^a  note  from  Mrs.  Oslx>r„e  at  The  Ce- 

*;  ^y'^';  Mrs.  Osborne  an<I  old  Mr.  Osborne 

and  Mr.  Ward  K.  Osborne,  his  son.    He  ha 
I'ved  so  much  in  America!  " 

Jane  gave  the  catalogue  slowly. 

•'  That  is  no  reason  he  should  take  up  their 
rlrwT-T'^'""''^'^'"'^-''^-  Wilton 

uT^lrC''    "^^•^^--^K.Osbornef 
"e  must  be  most  objectionable!  " 

"  I  don't  think  you   would  find  him  so " 

Xa>'''^''"''^'°^'-^^^'^'^^^''^^M;. 

86 


Zt^t  Career  of  inns.  €)M)ome 


Sarah  gave  a  frighlencil  start.  This  was 
really  too  wild. 

"  Mrs.  Oslx)rne  is  a  relation  of  ours,"  she 
said,  hurriedly.  "  The  OslMjrnes  are  American, 
you  know." 

••  So  I  should  have  supposed." 

"Did  you  like  the  play?"  inquired  Amelia. 

"  I  liked  Mrs.  Pat." 

"  Mrs.—  ?  oh.  Mrs.  Patrick  Campl^ell!  You 
speak  very  flippantly,  Jane.  Did  you  sit  be- 
side Mrs.  Oslxjrne?  I  hope  you  are  always 
very  careful  to  sit  beside  her.  It  looks  so  much 
more  modest." 

*•  I  sat  between  old  Mr.  Osborne  and  Mr. 
Howard  K.  Osborne,"  said  Sarah,  frantically, 
for  there  >v  as  an  evil  light  in  Mrs.  George  Wil- 
ton's eye. 

"  Osborne?  Ha,  I  don't  know  any  Osbornes 
now  I  I  did  once,  though.  Where  do  these 
people  come  from?  Isabella,  I  wish  you'd  ring 
for  luncheon,"  shouted  Colonel  Wilton. 

Jane  plunged  wildly. 

"  Kalamazoo,"  she  responded,  to  the  annoy- 
anc*  of  Sarah,  who  had  meant  to  say  Cohoes. 

"  What's  his  name— the  father's  ? " 

87 


1 


C^e  Career  of  f^tn,  ^^bctnt 


.1 


\mw  Jane  had  a  fetish,  ami  the  fetish  was 
a  chin.i  «log  of  vile  pottery,  with  a  foolish 
smile  ami  large  blue  eyes.  Since  the  age  of 
three  she  had  jwssessed  it,  and  wherever  she 
went  the  china  d')g  went  also. 

His  name?  Suddenly  the  name  of  the  fetish 
•KTcurrcd  ti)  her.  She  cast  a  stern  glance  at 
Sarah, 

'■  Mr.  Osborne's  Christian  name  is  Reginald 
Adolphus."  she  said,  blandly. 

And  thf'n  the  miage  of  the  true  Reginald 
Adolphus,  with  his  spotty  china  coat,  his  span- 
iel cars  and  his  collie  tail,  presented  itself  oo 
vividly  to  her  mental  vision.  She  began  to 
laugh  helplessly. 

"It  is— it  is  such  a  funny  name!"  she 
gasped  bet  we -n  her  hysterical  chuckles,  wiping 
the  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"  Funny !  I  don't  think  it's  funny ! "  snorted 
Colonel  Wilton.  "  Very  ordinary  I  call  it. 
Isabella,  I  want  my  lunch." 

"  You  would  think  it  was  funr.y  if  you  saw 
him,"  retorted  Jane. 

Sarah  rose  hastily  and  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow.    The  amiable  china  smile  of  Reginald 

88 


CQe  Carrtt  of  fiktn*  Onhmit 


Adolphus  had  occurred  to  her  alio.  Uul  Jane 
was  too  reckless;  they  would  be  getting  into 
trouble  if  !>he  went  on  like  this.  She  feared  the 
worst  during  luncheon.  So  matter  how  hard 
pressed  one  may  be  at  luncheon,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  rise  and  tly  to  the  window  to  hide  a 
too  ingenuous  countenance. 

I  have  tickets  for  the  Albert  Hall  this  af- 
ternoon," Mrs.  Wilton  announced  as  she  carved 
the  orthodox  hot  roast  l)eef.  "  Your  tickets, 
Jane,  came  to  four  shillings." 

•*  Oh,  I  am  afraid  we  can't  go!  That  is,  I 
haven't  any  money."  Jane  was  oflf  her  guard 
and  pattered  weakly. 

"  It  would  l)e  a  pity  for  you  to  miss  the 
chance  o'  hearing  a  little  gootl  music,"  Mrs. 
Wilton  pursued.  "You  can  -we  it  to  me. 
There  are  always  such  nice  ballads  at  the  Al- 
bert Hall  on  Sundays,  about  shipwrecks  and 
the  sea  and  prayers— quite  religious.  I  am  so 
fond  of  sacred  music !  " 

Sarah  glared  rebelHously  at  Jane.  But  Jane 
was  hungry,  and  wls  eating  roast  beef  and 
boiled  potatoes  as  if  she  liked  them. 

"  Thank  heaven,  I    ave  on  m ,'  best  corset  I  " 

89 


e(ie  career  of  iRrE  g>$bamt 


''  i 


reflected  Sarah,  angrily.  "  I  couWn'r  feel  him- 
gry  if  I  were  starving."  She  Icxike,!  tlintaste- 
fully  at  the  waxy  »)oile<l  jwlatu.  the  ov^rUo.ie 
l)ccf  on  her  plate. 

••  I  think,  mamma  dear,  I  had  better  lend 
Jane  a  bonnet.  .,r  at  least  a  tiniuc.  A  y.nmg 
married  .vonjan  can  hardly  g.>  to  the  Altwt 
Hall  on  a  Sunday  in  a  large  hat." 

Jane.  to«i  »tui)cfied  for  sjicech.  gazed  at  Eve- 
lyn. 

"  Wh%  iii  the  matter  with  my  hat  ?  "  she  de- 
manded  at  last. 

"  It  is  a  little-well."  Mrs.  Wilton  nodded 
|«rtentously.  "  Evelyn  is  quite  right,  my  dear 
Jane.  You  can  borrow  her  traveling  toque  to 
wear.  And  really,  Jane.  I  consider  so  thick  a 
ved  fastf  One  would  think  you  did  not  want 
to  be  recognized." 
Jane  clutchetl  her  headgear  with  both  hands. 
Thank  you,  I  will  go  as  I  am,"  she  said, 
"  or  there  is  no  need  for  us  to  go  at  all." 

"  But  that  would  be  a  waste—the  tickets  arc 
paid  for."  To  pay  for  anything  and  then  not 
use  It,  even  if  it  were  al.  .rrent,  was  out  of 
Mrs.  Wilton's  range  of  vision.    "  And  perhaps 

90 


Hi 


Ctie  Career  oC  0ix$,  €)0borne 


no  one  will  notice  your  hat.  Ilui  )ou  imi»i 
really  get  a  nice,  cjuict  little  U^nnet  to  wear 
when  y«.u  go  al»oiit  with  us." 

•*  I  think,"  «.lmrvcil  jane,  very  slowly  ami 
H'fl).  "I  *h;i!l  not  rcijuire  that  bonnet." 
But  the  |v)int  was  wasted  on  her  re!  uveji. 

"  We  »hall  l)e  etigagctl  a  fjrc  it  «lcal  this 
week."  Sarah  put  in.  lirnily.  "  Mrs.  Os»K>rne 
has  come  to  London  to — t.-  e  a  «l«ictt)r.  ,\n<l 
he  says  she  must  go  al)out  everywhere  and  lie 
atnusctl.  It  is  absi>lutely  necessary  f«)r  her  to 
l)e  amused.  So  we  are  tliniiij;  with  hci  an<l 
going  on  somewhere  every  night  this  week." 

Mrs.  Wilton  fmishc<l  her  custard  inuhling, 
then  rose  majestically. 

••  Go  and  get  rea  'y.  girls."  she  comman<le«l. 
"  It  is  something  of  a  walk  from  here  to  the 
Albert  Hall." 

Sarah  gazed  <!oubtfully  at  her  high  heels. 
She  wore  them  conscientiously,  in  order  to  look 
as  tall  as  Jane.  Could  she  ever  totter  in  them 
all  that  way,  even  at  Mrs.  Wilton's  pace?  Jane 
thought  of  the  streets  she  must  traverse  in  a 
squadron  of  Wiltons.  Even  with  a  thick 
veil    .     .     . 

91 


C^e  Career  of  fHviL  (DOmnt 


"  Why  not  drive?  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  do  not  approve  of  driving  on  Sunday.  It 
is  a  day  of  rest  for  man  and  beast.  Besides, 
cabs  are  exorbitant." 

"  We  can  go  in  an  omnibus." 

"Omnibus!"  Mrs.  Wilton's  fat  hands 
really  flew  up  in  the  air  with  horror.  "  How 
could  I,  in  my  Position,  be  seen  in  an  omnibus  ? 
You  forget  one  owes  a  certain  duty  to  one's 
County.  I  hope,"  grandiloquently,  "  you  and 
Sarah  never  go  in  omnibuses.  I  could  never 
hold  up  my  head  again  if  anyone  saw  you." 

"  Mr.  Hopkins  and  Mr.  O'Hara  are  in  town. 
You  would  not  like  them  to  see  you  getting 
out  of  an  omnibus! "  said  Evelyn,  cuttingly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know ! "  muttered  the  godless 
Sarah.  "We  haven't  wooden  legs — or  Eng- 
lish ankles!  I  think,"  her  mind  reverted  rap- 
idly to  the  surroundings  in  which  she  was  ac- 
customed to  meet  one  at  least  of  the  desirable 
bachelors  referred  to-— the  cheerful  restaurants, 
the  pink  lights,  the  flower-scented  drawing- 
room  at  the  flat—"  I  think  we  are  not  at  all 
likely  to  meet  Mr.  Hopkins  and  Mr.  O'Hara— 
in  an  omnibus !  "    And  Sarah  chuckled  as  she 

92 


Cftc  Careci?  of  fML  fPfOmnt 

stepped  carefully  down  the  stairs  in  her  high 
heels. 

Mrs.  Wilton  remained  behind. 

"  Do  hurry,  mamma,"  called  Evelyn,  primly. 
"  We  shall  be  late." 

"  It  was  your  father.  I  was  obliged  to  stop  to 
put  away  his  walking  sticks.  He  will  carry  one, 
though  an  umbrella  is  so  much  more  suitable 
on  a  Sunday,"  and  she  sailed  serenely  onward. 
Jane  looked  at  Sarah.  At  least  they  would  not 
be  there  to  hear  the  torrents  of  bad  language 
with  which  Colonel  Wilton  would  start  for  his 
club,  supporting  his  gouty  footsteps  by  the 
family  umbrella.  It  was  the  only  drop  spilled 
out  of  Jane's  brimming  cup  of  woe. 


93 


A 


i*l 


J  ■ 


CHAPTER  IX 

MISTAKEN   IDENTITY  AGAIN 

Miss  Egerton  was  dull.  She  had  so 
snubbed  Mr.  O'Hara  that  he  had  retired  in 
dudgeon.  Jane  was  away,  the  society  of 
Adams  was  not  festive,  and  to  avoid  owning  to 
herself  a  sneaking  sorrow  for  the  dismissal  of 
the  faithful,  Miss  Egerton  arrayed  herself  and 
went  out.  It  was  three  when  she  set  forth, 
it  was  seven  when  she  returned.  If  she 
had  been  preoccupied  when  she  opened  the 
door,  she  was  jovial  when  she  beheld  Jane, 
whom  she  had  not  expected,  awaiting  her  in 
elegant  leisure  and  her  oldest  tea  gown. 

"I  had  a  heavenly  day,"  was  that  lady's 
greeting. 

"Had  you?  Oh,  never  mind!  I'm  glad 
you're  back,  though.  Where  do  you  think  I've 
been  ?    And  whom  do  you  think  I  met  ?  " 

94 


€Qe  Career  of  iiftrst.  iS>0fmnt 


"  Don't  know.  You  look  very  smart.  Have 
you  got  on  any  of  my  clothes?  " 

"Only  your  wedding  ring,"  carelessly. 
"  And  very  useful  it  was.  Oh.  you  must  know 
whom  I  met!  It  was  the  luckiest  thing  I  went 
out." 

"What!"  Jane  sat  up  from  her  elegant 
position  on  the  sofa.  "  Not  Urmston,  Sarah? 
What  did  you  do  ?  " 

"Urmston,  exactly;  and  I  didn't  do  any- 
thing. I  said, '  How  do  you  do  ? '  and,  well— I 
routed  him ! " 

"  Did  he  ask  you  where  I  was?  "  said  Jane, 
curiously.  "  Was  that  why  he  wanted  rout- 
ing?" 

Sarah  winced,  ever  so  faintly. 

"  No,  he  didn't.  But  oh,  Jane,  he  knows  the 
Wiltons.  He  knows  we  live  here.  He  wanted 
to  come  and  call." 

"What  did  you  say?"  Jane  was  very 
white.  The  Wiltons  could  not  be  forbidden 
her  flat  any  more  than  death  or  the  baker's  boy, 
but  their  emissaries  she  would  not  have. 
"  How  did  you  manage?  " 

"  Beautifully,"  with  a  childlike  smile.    "  He 

95 


■»i 


C^e  Catrer  of  fML  tf)0bome 


i 


h 


i ' 


didn't  catch  my  name  that  day  at— Mrs.  Os- 
borne's. On  that  occasion  he  had  been  glued  to 
her  side  with  such  an  effect  that  it  was  the 
first  and  last  time  Miss  Egerton  appeared  in 
Mrs.  Osborne's  drawing-room.  "  I  had  bor- 
rowed your  wedding  ring  for  fun,  and  so," 
very  cheerfully,  "  as  he  seemed  to  think  I  was 
married,  I  let  him  think  so." 

"  But  he'll  find  out! "  Cold  horror  was  in 
Jane's  voice. 

"  Not  he!  He  l.u't  half  as  tall  as  I  thought 
he  was,  Jane,  and  he  looked  as  if  he  had  been 
bleached  since  I  saw  him." 

"  Good  heavens! "  said  Jane,  faintly.  "  Are 
you  sure  it  was  he?  " 

"Am  I  sure  you  are  you?  Listen.  I  met 
him  at  that  new  picture  place,  and  he  took  me 
to  have  tea.  I  took  of!  my  gloves,  and  when  he 
saw  your  ring  he  looked  so  surprised  that  I 
improved  the  occasion." 

"  What  did  you  tell  him  your  name  was?  I 
suppose,"  unkindly,  "  you  drew  the  line  at  tell- 
ing him  you  were  the  duchess  of  anything." 

"  That's  where  I  managed  so  well.  I  didn't 
tell  him  anything.    I  talked  a  little  about  Cap- 

96 


|t' 


^l^e  Career  of  /nm  €)jeibome 


tain  Wilton,  and  I  answered  when  he  called  me 
Mrs.  Wilton." 

"  But  why  ?  What  on  earth  made  you  pre- 
tend to  be  me?  Hell  meet  you  at  the  Wil- 
tons'.   You  were  mad." 

"  I  was  wise."  Sarah  looked  at  her  sister 
significantly.  "  He— I— it's  such  an  odd  thing, 
Jane;  quite  inexplicable,"  gazing  straight  at 
her.  "  Last  Thursday  the  Wiltons  caught  him 
in  the  Park  and  made  him  point  out  the  cel- 
ebrities. He  did.  And  the  Wiltons— well,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  if  he  pined  to  set  eyes  on 
their  daughter-in-law,  he'd  better  do  it  at 
once!" 

"  But  he'll  see  me  at  their  house." 

"Never  goes  there,"  sententiously. 
"Afraid  of  Amelia.  Don't  look  at  me  like 
that.  I  tell  you  it  was  the  only  thing  to 
do." 

"But  he'll  come  here!" 

"  He  won't  now ;  he  would  have.  I  terri- 
fied him  with  mamma-in-law.  Also,  why 
should  he  come  when  I'm  going  to  meet  him  in 
the  Park  in  the  morning?  The  Wiltons,"  mus- 
ingly, "  only  go  there  in  the  afternoons." 
7  97 


Cfte  CarcCT  oC  fML  fMbotnt 


••  He*i 


"Don't  go— for  me!"  very   pale. 
*  kittle  cattle  to  shoe  behind.'  " 

••  I  must.    Unless  you'll  put  things  straight 

yourself,"  slowly. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Jane,  dully.  "  Vm  playing 
for  money,  Sarah;  and  I  thought  it  was  for 

counters." 

Sarah  looked  at  her,  and  held  her  peace. 
But  her  choked-down  answer  stuck  in  her 
mind.  She  was  playing  for  flesh  and  blood, 
and  gallantly,  if  for  a  forlorn  hope  not  her 
own.    Jane's  voice  startled  her. 

"  Does  Urmston  know—"  it  was  the  first 
time  for  days  that  she  had  said  the  name— 

••George?"  ,    . 

••  No,"  shortly.  "  Not  even  that  he  s  m  In- 
dia. The  family  were  evidently  pressed  for 
time  when  they  met  him." 

At  ov.e  o'clock  the  next  after-oon  Lord 
Urmston  discovered  Sarah  seated  in  the  Park, 
a  vision  of  diaphanous  muslin,  crowned  with  a 
large  black  hat  and  shaded  by  a  faintly  rosy 
parasol.  He  saw  at  once  why  the  Wilton  family 
had  taken  Mrs.  Osborne  for  her.  Her  whole 
toilet  was  exactly  what  Mrs.  Osborne  had  worn 

98 


■*^~. 


m 


ete  career  of  iKrn  i0)M)ome 


list  Thursday,  when  the  same  parasol  had 
shaded  her  face  from  her  would-be  relatives. 
His  lordship  felt  the  warm  midday  air  heady  as 
he  looked  at  l.?r.    Sarah  as  she  greeted  him 
made  certain  that  her  preposterous  heels  were 
out  of  sight.    She  had  not  told  Jane  all  about 
yesterday.    She  had  had  a  horrible  fright,  had 
been  driven  indeed  before  she  posed  as  her  sis- 
ter.   But  it  had  been  a  great  success,  and  to- 
day's gown  clinched  it.     Urmston  as  he  sat 
down  beside  her  was  cursing  himself  for  a 
short-sighted  idiot.     Who  would  ever  have 
thought  a  Wilton  daughter-in-law  could  have 
been  like  this,  with  sense  enough  to  come  out 
rather  than  make  him  run  the  gantlet  of  Wil- 
tons at  her  flat  ?    He  decided  never  to  mention 
her  to  her  relatives,  if  he  had  the  bad  luck  to 
come  across  them. 

"  I  believe  all  the  nice  women  in  the  world 
are  manied,"  he  remarked,  concisely. 

Sarah  had  the  grace  to  blush. 

"  I  wonder  if  all  the  nice  men  are,"  she  re- 
turned, thoughtfully;  and  she  looked  straight 
into  his  gray,  self-seeking  eyes  with  her  lucid 
blue  gaze.    There  were  friends  of  Sarah's  who 

99 


C^e  Ceveer  of  ffiXfL  iOfixncnt 


would  have  known  that  the  look  threatened 
stormy  weather.  Lord  Urmston  saw  only  a 
fair  wind  and  set  his  spinnaker. 

"  You  look  charming  this  morning,  and  io 
happy.  Tell  me — "  he  was  the  sort  of  man 
who  makes  acquaintance  intimacy  if  the  woman 
be  pretty — "  are  you  happy  ?  " 

"  I  never  was  so  happy  in  my  life,"  compos- 
edly Composure  is  a  great  addition  to  a 
lie. 

He  gave  her  a  sudden  glanre. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  know  what  happiness  is. 
I  wish  1  could  teach  you." 

Teach  her!  Sarah  kept  contempt  oflf  her 
lips.  She  had  an  instant's  vision  of  another 
man's  face,  young  and  spare,  of  other  eyes. 

"  What  is  happiness?  "  she  said,  dreamily. 

"  You  are  married  to  the  man  of  your  choice, 
and  yet — you  can  ask !  " 

"  I  can  ask."  She  looked  at  him.  "  Can 
you  answer  ?  "  She  was  thanking  heaven  it 
was  not  Urmston  to  whom  phe  must  look  for 
happiness. 

"Happiness?  It  is  to  be  with  the  woman 
who  charms  you,  whether  you  have  her  for- 

100 


Zi9t  Career  of  futn,  0ia»me 


It  is  to  love  ai  the 


ever  or  for  but  a  little  time. 
Greeks  loved,  to—" 

Sarah  laughed.  No  one  in  all  the  world, 
not  even  Jane,  had  ever  before  heard  her  laugh 
like  that.  And  when  Urmston,  wincing,  looked 
sharply  at  her  she  was  holding  her  slim  throat 
very  straight,  and  the  set  of  it  was  merci- 
less. 

His  head  swam.  The  brown-green  turf,  the 
passing  carriages,  the  women  in  their  p.Me- 
colored  gowns  went  before  him  like  a  dream  in 
which  the  one  thing  real  was  Sarah.  And 
she  had  laughed !  She  should  pray  before  he 
was  done  with  her.  His  upper  lip  went  up; 
for  just  one  second  the  white  teeth,  with  the 
oddly  wide  division  bct\,een  the  two  in  front, 
showed.  But  Sarah  did  not  see.  She  was  get- 
ting up,  carefully  keeping  her  pale-rose  parasol 
between  her  pale-rose  face  and  the  sun. 

"  Let  us  go  and  have  luncheon,"  she  said  se 
renely.     "Would  you  mind  coming  with  me 
first  to  Jay's  ?  " 

There  was  an  odd  look  on  Lord  Urmston's 
keen,  eager  face  as  he  intimated  that  he  was  de- 
lighted to  go  to  Jay's.     But  by  the  time  they 

loi 


C|^  CtVCtt  OC  fft$»  €)iMltt 


IN 


had  rcichcd  Hydt  Park  corner  another  look 

reigned  in  iti  itead. 

Ten  minutei  later  a  hantom  wat  pulled  up 
with  a  jerk  in  the  middle  of  Regent  ttrcet, 
'  .ereby  causing  s  vift  profanity  from  the  driver 
of  an  omnibus  whose  horses  nearly  ran  over  it 
A  man  in  gentleman's  clothes  jumped  out  and 
imperiled  them  amid  the  traffic  rwore  viciously 
at  a  policeman  who  tried  to  stop  him  as  he  dived 
under  the  nose  of  a  hansom  horse,  and  dis- 
appeared between  two  omnibuses. 

The  driver  of  the  hansom  from  whidi  the 
man  had  fled  peered  down  through  the  trap 
for  orders,  and  a  girl's  voice  said,  wildly : 

"  Drive  on— any  where  f    No,  Sloane  street." 

As  the  cab  turned  back  into  the  street  Sarah 
sat  in  It  trembling  with  fury.  Was  that  what 
UiMston  called  conversation? — vO  &ay  he 
adored  her;  to  take  it  for  granted  she  adored 
him,  because,  forsooth,  she  had  met  him  l^ 
appointment ;  to  propose  she  should  go  to  Paris 
with  him  I  "  You  have  never  been  in  Paris. 
Your  husband  will  never  know."  It  had  been 
all  she  could  do  to  speak.  "  My  husband — no, 
he  never  will  know,"  she  had  said  slowly.   Then 

103 


hiil  sill'  liad  hiu^Ufd'. 


C^  Ctmr  or  0ix$.  tfibome 


with  her  parasol  the  had  pushed  up  the  little 
window  in  the  roof.  "  Sto|>— at  oncef"  the 
had  said.  And  l(K»king  straight  at  Urmiton, 
" Get  out  of  this  haniom f  Go!"  Her  voice 
had  been  high  and  steady.  "  Get  out  of  my 
sight  I  I  loathe  you  I "  Jane  or  no  Jane,  dan- 
gerous or  not,  she  would  for  once  speak  the 
truth  to  Lord  Urmiton.  She  h.id  been  play- 
ing the  g.ime  so  calmly  he  had  never  imagine*! 
this  was  coming.  He  had  »nt  petrified  wifh 
amazement.  "Will  you  go?  Or  must  I?" 
Sh^  had  held  her  breath  as  she  looked  at  him. 
And  without  one  word,  without  his  own  voli- 
tion.  Lord  Urmston  had  got  up,  hid  fourd  him- 
self  standing  in  the  roaring  traffic,  being  cursed 
on  all  sides. 

For  once  Sarah  was  wildly  unhappy.  She 
wept  sick,  unwilling  tears  when  she  was  s.-^fe  in 
Rossetti  Mansions  with  the  house  to  herself. 
"  I'll  never  be  unselHsh  again,"  she  sobbed. 

She  was  startled  by  the  ring  of  a  telegraph 
boy.  However,  it  was  not  what  she  expected, 
for  her  tears  ceased  as  she  read.  It  was 
O'Hara,  begging  her  in  a  humble  and  lengthy 
wire  to  dine  with  him  at  the  Cecil.    Her  heart 

103 


■-•-♦>♦-•»  V-»«t*»<^  *!*»!._ 


^^e  €axttt  of  0LtfL  €)j3l)ome 


turned  to  him  gratefully.  What  was  it  Jane 
had  said?  "Mr.  O'Hara  thinks  gold  is  not 
good  enough  for  you."  He  was  always  the 
same,  always  kind,  always  tender,  never  tak- 
ing advantnge  of  their  wild  adventures  to  say 
one  word  she  would  rather  he  had  not  said. 

"  I  may  forget  I'm  a  lady — "  she  dashed 
fresh  tears  from  her  eyes — "  but  he  never  for- 
gets he  is  a  gentleman."  So  she  sent  an  an- 
swer to  the  reinstated  O'Hara  and  set  forth  to 
dine  with  him,  dressed  adorably.  O'Hara 
thought  she  had  never  looked  so  pretty.  He 
walked  proudly  into  the  Cecil  with  her  and  es- 
tablished her  at  a  small  table  in  the  corner, 
where  he  ordered  a  dinner  that  even  Sarah 
begged  him  to  moderate.  But  he  only  laughed, 
and  went  on. 

Sarah  was  well  launched  in  her  dinner  when 
a  man  and  a  woman  brushed  past  her  as  they 
took  their  seats  at  the  next  table.  There  were 
reasons  why  Miss  Egerton  could  not  turn  pale, 
but  a  fierce,  a  frightened  gleam  lighted  her  nar- 
rowed eyes.  Lord  Urmston  had  evidently 
been  seeking  consolation,  and  by  what  evil  fate 
was    it    that    he    brought    it    to    the    Cecil? 

104 


C^e  Career  of  fsitfL  flDisbome 


OHaras  back  was  to  the  couple,  but  Sarah 
must  sit  and  face  them  throughout  her  over- 
long  dinner.  Urmston  had  not  seen  her  yet. 
She  leaned  forward  and  touched  O'Hara  with 
a  beseeching,  trembling  hand. 

"  Whatever  you  do,  don't  call  me  by  my 
name."  she  sSitl.  "  There  is  a  man  sitting  be- 
hind you  whom  I  once  knew,  and  I  don't  want 
him  to  come  and  speak  to  me.  Perhaps  he 
won't  be  certain  who  I  am  if  he  does  not  hear 
you  say  my  name.  I— I  hate  him !  "  incoher- 
ently. 

"I'll  break  his  neck  if  he  annoys  you!" 
O'Hara  did  not  understand,  but  that  was  no 
matter — his  Sarah  could  do  no  wrong.  And 
the  look  of  him  gave  Sarah  courage. 

"  He's  not — a  very  nice  man !  I  know 
Jane,"  with  late  virtue,  "  would  not  like  me  to 
speak  to  him." 

"  All  right,"  cheerfully.     "  You  sha'n't." 

Urmston  had  seen  her  by  this  time,  but  her 
look  was  as  calmly  unconscious  as  an  utter 
stranger's.  It  was  he  who  was  disconcerted. 
Sarah  under  lowered  lids  saw  him  glance  at 
his  consolation  with  distaste — it  was  an  opu- 

105 


is^^mmm^ 


mm 


j^^^*-_*~±_>^ 


ZJ^t  Career  of  fRxiL  ^tffmnt 


lently  fair  consolation  with  over-golden  hair. 
Suddenly  she  felt  faint,  for  he  had  turned  his 
eyes  full  on  her  and  in  them  was  an  expression 
that  terrified  her.  She  must  take  strong  meas- 
ures. If  he  thought  O'Hara  merely  an  ac- 
quaintance he  was  quite  likely  to  come  and 
accost  her,  and  she  knew  the  words  that  would 
be  on  his  tongue.  But  if  he  could  be  made  to 
thing  O'Hara  was  her  husband!  As  she  re- 
flected she  caught  Utinston's  eye— and  he 
smiled. 

At  that  smile  Sarah's  wild  blood  was  up. 
There  was  something  fundamentally  strange 
and  untamed  about  her  under  her  languid  man- 
ner, her  childlike  gayety.  With  the  same  im- 
pulse with  which  she  would  have  put  a  knife 
into  Urmston  had  she  been  hard  pressed,  she 
leaned  forward  and  spoke  to  O'Hara.  It  was 
some  trifling  nonsense  that  she  uttered,  but 
there  was  a  sweet  familiarity  as  of  long  use  in 
her  tone,  such  as  Mr.  O'Hara  had  never  heard. 
The  poor  boy's  heart  filled  with  pride.  There 
was  a  bn  .ling  and  consultation  of  waiters 
round  Urmston ;  for  the  moment  he  could  not 
hear.  Sarah,  very  low,  spoke  to  O'Hara 
again. 

io6 


■'•H.**' 


CQe  Career  of  iftrn  ^sibomt 


"  I  said  not  to  call  me  by  my  name,  but  you 
can't  say  'hi'  when  you  speak  to  me.     You 
can  say  '  Sarah  '  I  believe,"  she  laughed,  "  you 
always  call  me  '  Sarah  '  in  private." 
O'Hara  changed  color. 
"  I  would  like  to,"  he  said,  quietly.    "  I  wish 
I  could  think  that  in  private  life  you  called  me 
•Billy.'"     For  the  Honorable  William  Des- 
mond Craven  O'Hara,  the  son  of  many  earls, 
had  no    tore  romantic  nickname  than  "  Billy." 
•'  I  will  if  you  like— Billy." 
The  man  behind  O'Hara  heard  the  tone  of 
the  last  word,  and  it  gave  him  a  new  emotion. 
He  looked  at  her  left  hand,  where  Jane's  wed- 
ding ring  was  surmounted  by  Sarah's  pearls. 
This  was  evidently  the  husband.     Somehow 
he  had  ignored  the  fact  that  the  husband  might 
be  in  town.     He  would  rather  have  seen  him 
old  or  insignificant  than  unexceptionable  like 
this.     As  he  watched  the  pair  leave  the  room 
Lord  Urmston  decided  he  was  well  ou.  of  this 
day's  work,  but  he  regretted  Sarah  infernally, 
and  he  was  exceedingly  rude  and  disagreeable 
to  his  consolation.     Mr.  O'Hara,  when  he  had 
climbed   up   the   stairs  of  Rossetti  Mansions 

107 


Ci^e  Career  of  ^ris.  iS>si>\mtnt 

with  Sarah,  stood  beside  her  in  the  empty 
drawing-room. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said,  quite  huskily.  "  I 
have  to  thank  you  for  the  happiest  evening  I 
ever  had  in  my  life."  He  stooped,  and  with 
a  certain  reverence  laid  his  lips  lightly  on  her 
hand. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him  Sarah  threw 
herself  down  on  the  sofa.  There  she  lay  till 
the  dawn  came  in,  her  smart  satin  evening  cloak 
huddled  up  round  her,  crying  softly  and  bit- 
terly with  self-contempt  and  shame.  If  O'Hara 
only  knew— everything  1 


T08 


M 


1 


CHAPTER  X 

TWO  SOCIAL  FAVORITES 

Miss  Winnie  Wellwood  sat  reading  the 
papers.  On  the  IVorld,  Truth,  Vanity  Fair 
and  Society  she  browsed  every  week ;  you  knew 
who  was  who  if  you  did  that  and  cast  no  pearls 
before  younger  sons.  But  this  week  there  were 
no  names  exploited— except  Mr.  Miles  Van 
Ingen's.  He  "  had  taken  a  deer  forest,"  had 
"  bought  Lord  Elderson's  place  in  Devonshire," 
"  was  building  a  steam  yacht,"  had  "  given  a 
dance  with  an  American  cotillion  and  Ameri- 
can favors."  Miss  Wellwood's  mouth  watered 
at  the  favors.  "All  that  money  going  to 
waste,  and  me  getting  old !  "  she  said,  viciously. 
She  knew  she  might  as  well  go  out  and  try  to 
catch  the  stars  with  a  butterfly  net  as  hope  to 
get  hold  of  Van  Ingen.  Besides,  it  dawned  on 
her  suddenly  that  in  every  paper  a  paragraph 

109 


'  '--i 


1, 


H 


11 


n 


Ode  Career  of  fM^  Hbfimm 

about  Mrs.  Osborne,  the  new  American  beauty, 
came  after  each  that  held  Van  Ing^n's  name. 
The  "  Ladies'  Letters  "  were  even  bolder. 

"  Mrs.  Osborne  at  the  Countess  of  Bar- 
wick's  was,  of  course,  mobbed,  as  usual.  She 
bore  her  honors  calmly,  and  danced  a  good  deal 
with  her  compatriot,  Mr.  Van  Ingen.    .    .    . 

"  Mrs.  Osborne  I  saw,  among  others.  She 
was  driving  on  the  box  seat  of  Mr.  Van  Ingen's 
coach,  looking  supremely  beautiful  and  happy. 

I*         •         • 

"  Mrs.  Osborne's  gown  at  Lady  Ilminster's 
garden  party  at  Bolland  House  was  a  dream 
in  banana-green.  The  foamy  flounces  puzzled 
me,  lill  I  discovered  they  were  of  string-colored 
lace  applique  with  wee  pink  ostrich  feathers. 
She  wore  her  favorite  green  shoes.  On  dit 
that  she  is  so  devoted  to  them  as  to  mean  to 
wear  them  en  seconde  noces;  but  as  that  occa- 
sion is  likely  to  be  a  purely  American  one  we 
poor  Islanders  will  probably  see  many  new 
things  thereat." 

Miss  Wellwood  cast  down  the  third  paper. 

no 


Is- 


Cie  Career  of  iatiL  ^lOmnt 


Eh  seconde  noces  was  Greek  to  her.  She 
clawed  a  meaning  of  her  own  out  of  it  that  was 
fairly  correct.  And  she  hated  Mrs.  Osborne 
with  a  fine  vigor,  because  she  was  in  no  need 
of  Mr.  Miles  Van  Ingen's  dollars-and  Miss 
Wellwood  was. 

Banana-green  gown,"  she  sniffrd.  sourly. 
"  I  bet  her  looks  are  all  clothes.     If  she's  so 
lovely  why  doesn't  she  have  her  photo  in  the 
shops  ?    All  clothes  and  luck,  I  call  these  '  beau- 
ties,"'    savagely.      "I     was     good-looking 
enough,  but  Td  no  luck.     That  slim  woman 
who  lives  upstairs,  she's  about  the  prettiest 
thing  I've  ever  seen,  and  all  the  luck  she's  got 
is  one  little  man  that's  running  after  her.     And 
Thompson,"   with  a  laugh.     "She  wouldn't 
look  at  Thompson,  even  if  he  dared  look  at  her. 
But  you  wouldn't  catch  me  living  here  if  I'd 
her  looks.     One  man."  with  deep  scorn,  "  and 
a  red-headed  boy,  all  that  ever  come  near  her. 
She's  either  poor  or  a  fool."     She  picked  up  her 
papers  again.     "  I'd  like  to  see  this  Mrs.  Os- 
borne that's  caught  Van  Ingen.     I'd  lay  odds 
he's  having  tea  with  her  now.     Tea !    That's 
where  the  difference  comes  in.    They  give  tea 

III 


■m 


i 


C^e  Career  of  fiitiL  iD0bome 

and  we  give  champagne.  But  it  conies  to  the 
same  thing  in  the  end,"  cynically.  "  I  won't 
re  id  any  more  about  Van  Ingen.  I'm  never 
likely  to  do  more  than  read.  He  doesn't  go 
anywhere  I  go.  They  don't — when  they  can 
get  banana-green  gowns  and  tea.  Ur-rh!  I 
can  see  that  tea  now," 

She  was  quite  right,  so  far  as  the  banana- 
green  gown  went.  The  tea  stood  neglected  in 
Mrs.  Osborne's  drawing-room.  Miles  Van 
Ingen,  very  pale  and  shining  eyed,  stood  fac- 
ing Mrs.  Osborne  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Do  you  love  me  as  much  as  that  ?  "  he  said. 
He  was  triumphant.  Mrs.  Osborne  nodded. 
Alone  with  him,  all  the  mystical,  sorceress  look 
had  gone  from  her  face.  She  was  girlish,  fresh 
— and  ashamed!  She  covered  her  face  sud- 
denly, as  if  she  could  not  meet  his  eyes. 

"  Don't,"  he  said.  "  Look  at  me.  There's 
nothing  that  can't  be  said  between  you  and  me. 
There's  never  been  a  day  we  haven't  loved  each 
other  for  all  these  years."  He  forgot  the  tri- 
fling episode  of  Osborne.  This  woman  was 
his.  always  had  been  and  always  would  be. 

He  caught  her  hands  and  kissed  her,  as  no 

112 


C^e  Career  of  f^tn.  ^ibome 


one  had  kissed  her  since  the  day  he  left  her.  In 
a  hired  house  in  Eaton  Place  Mrs.  Osborne 
stood  inside  the  gates  of  heaven. 

"  Kiss  me  again,"  he  said.  "  We've  years  to 
make  up  for.  But  we'll  have  years  to  do  it  in." 
He  laughed,  quick  and  short.  "Oh.  blessed 
London  and  blessed  money!  I'd  never  have 
found  you  without  them." 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  said.  "  I'm  dizzy."  But 
she  was  not.  She  only  felt  as  if  something  had 
stopped  the  rioting  blood  in  her,  made  her  faint. 
Yet  when  he  brought  her  a  chair  she  did  not 
sit  down. 

"  Why  couldn't  you  have  found  me  without 
the  money  ?  "  she  said.  "  You  could  have  gone 
back." 

"  You  married  Osborne." 

"  Before  that." 

"  I  couldn't  have  married  you  even  if  you 
had  remained  single.  You  knew  that.  Not 
till  this  year.  I — I  was  packing  raisins  in  a 
factory  in  Mexico.  Faugh  I  I  can  Sv .  those 
colored  papers  now." 

So  he  had  really  been  penniless  I    Her  blood 
began  to  move  again.     Sometimes  she  had 
8  113 


HMM 


•«iMlMli« 


-.*  ■ 


. --%3 


u\ 


I 


U 


wondered  if — But  no  matter.    He  loved  htf 
with  all  his  loul  now. 

"How  much  do  you  love  me?"  She 
laughed  because  she  was  so  happy. 

*'  You  wouldn't  believe  me.  You  were  al- 
ways an  u.ibeliever/'  shrewdly.  "  But  it's  I 
who  can't  believe  now.  Do  you  'xnow  I'm  a 
poor  match  ?  Oh,  I'm  not  talking  about  money 
— you've  that  already.  But  a  woman  all  Lon- 
don raves  over,  Mrs.  Osborne  this  and  Mrs. 
Osborne  that — you  could  marry  a  prince  to- 
morrow, and  you  know  it.  I  can't  believe—oh, 
you're  a  sort  of  queen,  Mrs.  Osborne!"  with 
that  quick  little  laugh.  "  I  can't  believe  you're 
coming  of!  your  throne  to  me." 

"  I'm  a  fashion,"  with  a  quick  intake  of  her 
breath.  "  An — an  episode !  Miles,  tell  me,  if 
I  weren't  Mrs.  Osborne,  if  I  hadn't '  caught  on,' 
would  you  love  me?  " 

"  I  might  have  seen  you,"  with  superfluous 
truth. 

"  If  I'd  had  a  husband  alive  when  you  met 
me?" 

"  Osborne  died  in  '98,"  he  said  roughly. 
"  You  never  loved  him.     Forget  him." 

114 


III 


C^e  Ctmr  of  iiiak  OAomc 


"Loved  him!  Why  ihould  I  love  him?" 
It  was  a  queer  thing  to  say.  "  He's  got  no> 
thing  to  do  with  it — except  the  money  that  lets 
me  be  the  success  you  say  I  am.  I—I'm  only 
Ulking,  Miles.  Let  me  talk.  I  always,"  with 
a  sharp  smile,  "  liked  to  get  at  the  root  of 
things.  Suppose,  instead  of  finding  me  Mrs. 
Osborne,  you'd  found  me  married  to  a  well- 
meanini;,  kind,  middle-class  husband,  the  sort 
I  should  have  been  likely  to  marry  at  Aunt 
Adtla's,  what  would  you  have  done  then?  *' 

"  Kept  out  of  your  way— o.'  made  you  get  a 
divorce." 

"  If  you  couldn't  do  either  ?    If " 

He  laughed. 

"If  '  ifs  and  ans  were  pots  and  pans,'  "  he 
said;  but  the  laugh  had  covered  annoyance. 
"  It  would  be  just  the  same.  You  know  it 
would.     Sweetheart,  what's  the  matter?" 

For  the  second  time  Mrs.  Osborne's  hands 
had  covered  her  face. 

"  I — I  wanted  to  be  sure  it  was  I  you  loved, 
not  the  Mrs.  Osborne  the  town  runs  after.  You 
are  sure?" 

"I'm  sure  I  won't  let  you  talk  any  more 
115 


■■*a«Mtai«M>> 


id 


't 


C^f  Cfttett  of  iRnk  tf)Aonif 

nonsense. "  He  came  to  hei  mtsterfully. 
"  You're  mine;  you've  said  sa" 

•'  But  listen.     I  must '* 

"  I  won't.  That's  more  than  your  •  must.* 
Do  you  think  anything  could  stop  my  loving 
you?  Nothing.  Now  nre  you  satisfied?" 
He  took  her  hands  from  her  face,  and  whatever 
thought  of  indecision  had  been  on  it  was 
gone. 

He  was  right,  nothing  mattered ;  nothing  she 
could  ever  tell  him  would  matter.  It  was  Miles 
who  had  come  back  to  her,  Miles  who  would 
love  her  as  she  loved  him,  out  beyond  and  in  the 
V  orld  to  come.  »vhatever  one  called  it,  hell  or 
heaven.  She  held  out  her  arms  to  him  ak  if 
he  were  all  she  had  on  earth. 

"  My  sweetheart,  how  lovely  you  pre'"  he 
said,  his  cheek  against  hers.  And  his  voice 
caught  at  the  soul  of  Mrs.  Osborne. 

Whatever  she  had  to  tell  him  of  a  hitherto 
colorless  .life  should  not  be  told  to-day.  Be- 
tides, there  was  a  step  outside,  a 

She  was  standing  at  the  tea  table  as  the  door 
opened ;  Mr.  Van  Ingen  with  an  impassive  face 
was  saying  good-bye.    Mrs.  Osborne's  incom- 

ii6 


C^  camt  or  iRti.  ^ttboimt 


inf  viiiton  thought  they  had  never  lecn  her  lo 
lovely ;  and  perhaps  they  nevr<  had. 

She  dined  with  Lady  Lanark.  Van  Ingcn 
from  the  other  tide  of  the  table  worshiped 
her.  The  glamour  of  her  dazed  him— her 
beauty,  her  vogue,  her  indefinable  air,  the 
beauty  that  was  redoubled  to-night  because  of 
him.  As  soon  as  dmner  was  over  he  would 
ask  her  to  let  him  tell  his  victory.  His  hard 
face  was  feverish  as  he  thought  of  it.  But  af- 
ter dinner  Lady  Lanark  had  plans;  he  found 
he  could  go  home  or  agree  to  them.  She  ap- 
parently patronized  an  oil-and-color  shop  for 
her  complexion,  and  she  liked  her  pleasures  to 
match.  They  were  all  going  to  the  Empire. 
Mr.  Van  Ingen  knew  why  as  well  as  if  he  had 
been  told. 

"Showr*  cried  Lady  Lanark.  "We 
haven't  come  to  sec  the  show.  We've  come  to 
sit  here  in  the  lounge  and  eat  ices  and  see  the 
world."  Mr.  Van  Ingcn  was  the  only  man 
who  did  not  put  on  an  air  of  nervous 
gloom. 

"  Dear  mc,  they  look  very  prim  and  pious !  " 
She  omitted  to  say  whom  she  meant.    "  They're 

"7 


C^e  Career  of  fgiviL  mimnt 


—really,  Mr.  Van  Ingen,  they  do  those  things 
better  in  France !  " 

Mrs.  Osborne  fanned  herself,  her  exquisite 
head  held  even  more  backward  than  usual.  It 
amused  her  to  hear  Lady  Lanark  appeal  to  Van 
Ingen;  he  was  so  openly  restive.  He  started 
now. 

"  What  ?  The  show  ?  How  do  you  know 
when  you  won't  look  at  it  ?  " 

"  No,  not  the  show,  my  dear  ingenu!  "  Lady 
Lanark  was  impervious  to  snubs.  "  The — the 
—what's  that  over  there?  It  looks— Wkt  a 
Japanese  screen!"  She  pointed  to  a  girl  in 
red,  with  gold  embroideries  spilled  all  over  her. 
"  And  the  lady  in  the  tailor  frock — so  sweet 
and  Sergey !     What's  her  name  ?  " 

"  I  really  never  heard  it."  Van  Ingen  calmly 
retired  to  Mrs.  Osborne's  side.  "Why  on 
earth  did  we  ever  let  her  drag  us  here?"  he 
said,  in  a  furious  undertone.  "  Let  me  take 
you  home." 

"  I  daren't.     They'd  talk ! " 

"  Then  let  me  tell  them." 

"  Please,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Osborne,  faintly. 

He  nodded. 

ii8 


tiDi^e  Career  of  ffitf^  ii)iiiXx»me 

"  You  watch  me  get  our  beloved  hostess 
away,"  he  remarked,  dryly. 

Mrs.  Osborne  laughed.  If  the  laugh  was 
sweet  and  ringing,  'i  wa'j  :iJso  incredulous. 

At  the  sound  of  it  .Miss  \V'ii.;ae  Wellwood 
swung  round  and  ir  ^).'c"ed  Mr?..  Osborne's  un- 
conscious back. 

"  My,  what  a  gown ! "  said  she  to  the  girl 
in  serge.     "  Who's  the  man  ?  " 

"Oh,  Van  something!"  The  sergey  girl 
did  not  care  to  converse  with  Miss  Wellwood. 
"  American  millionaire.  The  woman's  the 
beauty,  Mrs.  Osborne.  Let  go  my  arm !  Don't 
grab  me  like  that!    What's  the  matter?" 

Once  more  Mrs.  Osborne's  laugh  came  high 
and  sweet  as  she  passed,  triumphantly  leading 
Lady  Lanark  away. 

"  Mrs.  Osborne !  "  repeated  Miss  Wellwood. 
She  plumped  down  on  a  convenient  chair. 
"  Mrs.  Osborne!    That's  her?  " 

"Yes.     What  about  it?" 

"  She's  a  beauty,"  said  the  Wellwood,  slow- 
ly; "a  beauty.    But,  my  word,  she's  a  fooH " 


119 


CHAPTER  XI 


A  THREATENED  EVICTION. 

Sarah  on  the  narrow  hardness  of  her  bed 
in  the  flat  lay  waiting  for  Jane  to  come.  She 
sleepily  contemplated  the  long  array  of  her 
little  shoes  ranged  out  on  the  mantelpiece,  re- 
joicing that  she  had  thought  of  bestowing  them 
there  before  it  occurred  to  Jane.  Jane  had 
been  obliged  to  put  hers  under  her  bed  and 
glare  passionately  into  that  dusty  bourne  when- 
ever she  required  a  fresh  pair  of  shoes,  which 
she  did  ten  times  a  day  Miss  Egerton  also 
contemplated,  with  content  at  her  own  ingenu- 
ity, the  thirty-guinea  traveling  bag  for  which 
she  had  found  a  home  in  the  empty  grate. 

"  It  only  takes  a  little  cleverness  to  be  per- 
fectly comfortable  in  a  flat,"  she  thought, 
proudly.  "Where  is  that  low  wretch,  Jane? 
I  want  the  light  put  out." 

She  climbed  over  Jane's  couch  to  extinguish 
1 20 


Clfte  Career  of  jUris.  ^jjbome 


the  gas  when  he  was  conscious  of  sharp  whis- 
pering from  Adams's  room,  where  Jane  had 
gone  to  be  unlaced.  There  was  something  go- 
ing on !  Miss  Egerton  nimbly  arrived  on  the 
scene  of  action. 

"  What  are  you  whispering  for  ?  And  wh^ 
are  you  in  the  dark?"  at  the  top  of  her  cool 
soprano  voice. 

"  Hush,  miss,  please !  "  Adams  was  nearly 
in  tears. 

"  Shut  up,  Sarah !  " 

Mrs.  Wilton  and  her  maid  stood  in  pitchy 
darkness,  each  holding  to  a  slat  of  the  Venetian 
blind  and  peering  cautiously  out  through  the 
slit  afforded. 

"Oh!  what  shall  we  do,  Sarah?  He  looks 
like  a  murderer! " 

"What!" 

Sarah,  all  in  whue,  shouldered  her  sister  out 
of  the  way.  In  the  opposite  window,  four 
yards  away,  sat  a  man.  He  was  smoking,  and 
every  now  and  then  the  glow  from  the  end  of 
his  cigar  lit  up  a  loathsome  face.  All  three 
women  stood  motionless. 

"  He's  been  staring  like  that  at  me  all  the 

121 


Cl^e  Career  of  fM*  €)0bome 

evening,"  shivered  Adams,  "and  he  watched 
the  gentlemen  go  just  now  half  out  of  the  win- 
dow." 

"  He  couldn't  see  them,"  Sarah  murmured, 
contemptuously.  "  He'^  jot  a  perfect  right  to 
sit  ::t  his  own  window." 

"  He  could,  Sarah.  They  lighted  matches 
all  the  way  down  stairs ;  he  could  see  them  on 
eve  y  landing,  and  he's  only  sitting  there  to 
stare  at  us." 

Suddenly  there  was  a  sharp  rasp.  The  man 
opposite  had  lighted  a  fusee.  The  light  shone 
plainly  on  his  face,  and  it  was  the  face  of  a 
beast.  The  three  watchers  sprang  from  the 
window. 

"  What  a  devil  I "  cried  Sarah,  sharply,  be- 
tween her  teeth. 

Jane  threw  herself  on  Adams's  bed. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  detective,  I  know  he's  a  detec- 
tive! The  Wiltons  have  sent  him  to  watch 
me !  "  She  broke  into  shuddering  sobs.  Sarah 
threw  her  arms  round  her. 

"  Hush,  darling,  hush  I  He's  just  a  horrid 
man  trying  to  annoy  us."  Her  own  heart  was 
beating  quickly;  she  had  never  seen  just  such 

122 


€4e  Career  of  fiixsi*  i^ieibome 


a  look  on  a  man's  face  before.    "  Adams,  the 
door!  "  she  said,  softly,  as  she  held  Jane  tight. 

Adams  flew  to  the  front  door  and  bolted  it. 
Jane  was  quiet  and  Sarah  got  up  and  stood  be- 
side the  maid  in  the  bedroom  doorway.  The 
little  entry  was  only  half-dark,  for  the  drawing- 
room  light  shone  into  it  from  one  end.  As 
they  stood  mistress  and  maid  looked  at  each 
other.  Someone  treading  softly  on  the  balls  of 
his  feet  was  coming  up  the  long  stone  stair. 

"  He's  gone,"  said  Jane,  with  relief.  She 
had  got  up  and  was  peering  through  the  blind 
once  more. 

"  Brute !  He's  gone  down  his  own  stairs 
and  in  our  door,  and  he's  coming  up  our  stairs. 
Hush,  don't  move !  " 

In  the  silence  the  soft  footfall  stopped  out- 
side their  flat,  which  was  the  top  one  in  the 
building.  Some  one  knocked.  Sarah  hardly 
breathed.  Then  the  letter-box  was  cautiously 
rattled.  Sarah's  wild  blood  raced  in  her;  she 
made  a  step  in  the  entry,  but  Adams  caught 
her  firmly  by  her  white  embroidered  sleeve. 

"Don't  go  out,  miss.  He  can  see  you!" 
She  spoke  very  low,  but  the  .nan  heard  her. 

"3 


^^e  Career  of  fMk  ^isbome 


"T'ss,  t'ss,  t'ssl"  he  called,  with  vile  cau- 
tion,  through  the  letter-box. 

"  I'm  going  to  open  the  door  and  speak 
to  that  man ! "  Sarah's  high  voice  was 
low  with  rage.  "To  think  he  should 
dare!" 

Jane  was  herself  again.  She  laid  a  quiet 
hand  on  Sarah's  slim  shoulder. 

"  Don't  move,"  she  said.  "  Let  him  knock. 
Once  we  opened  the  door  he  would  be  in;  we 
couldn't  keep  him  out.  And  then  if  we  made 
a  fuss  and  roused  the  house,  they  would  believe 
we  had  let  him  in  and  got  frightened  afterward. 
It's  this  beastly  suburb  that's  the  matter. 
They're  not  used  to  people  who  have  visitors 
all  day  and  go  out  in  hansoms.  He  has  prob- 
ably seen  all  our  doings,  and  saw  us  bring  those 
two  men  home  with  us.  Oh,  why  aren't  we  in 
America,  where,  if  you  amuse  yourself,  no  one 
immediately  thinks  you  vile?  " 

The  handle  of  the  door  turned  softly,  it  shook 
as  a  strong  shoulder  heaved  against  it,  but  the 
bolt  and  the  latch  held.  Presently  the  foot- 
steps, treading  softly,  went  away. 

"  I  wish  he  had  done  it  while  Mr.  O'Hara 
124 


€4e  Career  of  fiixtL  Oieibome 


was    here."      Sarah    thought    longingly    of 
O'Hara's  iron  muscles. 

"  Not  he,"  said  Jane.  "  Catch  him !  They 
would  have  kicked  him  downstairs,  too,  and 
we  should  all  have  been  put  in  the  papers." 

"Let's  go  to  bed,"  said  Sarah,  drearily. 
"  My  feet  are  frozen  on  this  horrid  oilcloth. 
Mr.  Hopkins  will  make  us  leave  this  flat  if  we 
tell  him  we've  been  annoyed,  and  we  can't  go 
to  a  hotel.     You  know  we  can't." 

"  The  bolt  is  strong;  he  can  pound  all  night 
if  he  likes.  Come  to  bed.  Don't  light  your 
gas  again,  Adams.     Good-night." 

She  followed  the  shivering  Sarah  to  bed,  but 
their  narrow  stretchers  were  not  reposeful. 
They  turned  and  tossed  for  an  hour.  Sud- 
denly Jane  started  out  of  bed. 

"  He's  at  the  door  again." 

Sarah  stood  in  the  bedroom  door,  looking 
into  the  sitting-room.  She  had  taken  Jane's 
bed  at  the  fly  in  the  efTort  to  pass  her  sister, 
and  had  bumped  her  shins  successively  against 
every  article  in  the  room. 

"  Come  back  to  bed,"  she  said,  contemptu- 
ously.   "  If  he  likes  to  spend  the  night  on  our 

12S 


Ctir  Cateev  of  iML  i^ttome 

door-mat,  let  him.  I've  cut  my  foot  on  your 
vile  bonnet-box." 

She  limped  back  to  bed  and  fell  fast  asleep, 
to  dream  of  earthquakes. 

It  was  morning,  and  the  postman's  knock  was 
loud  at  the  door.  Adams  appeared  presently 
with  letters  and  tea. 

"That's  a  funny  letter!"  Sarah  surveyed 
a  common  envelope  with  distaste;  the  writing 
on  it  sloped  backward,  and  she  despised  it. 
"  It's  for  you.  Jane." 

Jane  was  drinking  hot  water;  she  said  tea 
was  not  good  for  the  complexion.  She  felt 
as  languid  as  her  tasteless  draught. 

"  Open  the  thing,"  she  said,  listlessly. 

Sarah  pulled  a  small  slip  of  paper  from  the 
flimsy  envelope — and  stared. 

Jane  snatched  it. 

"  This  is  from  a  friend.  You'd  better  go 
away. 

"  Thompson." 


"  I  wonder  if  we  had,"  she  said,  with  cu- 
rious earnestness. 
"  Go  away  I  "  shrieked  Sarah.     "  The  man's 

126 


C^e  €atm  of  faxiL  tOfimnt 


mad.  We're  away  enough,  what  with  those 
old  Wiltons  and  adorers  and  things.  You  can 
go  if  you  like,  but  I  sha'n't  stir."  and  she  de- 
parted, to  be  first  at  the  bath  that  would  not 
run. 

Her  pains  were  wasted,  for  Jane  breakfasted 
in  bed,  to  an  obligate  of  discomforting 
thoughts.  Against  her  will  she  believed  in  the 
good  faith  of  their  licsieger  of  last  night.  She 
wished,  as  the  panic-struck  always  wish,  that 
she  had  had  sense  enough  to  dress  and  speak 
to  him.  She  had  but  just  finished  a  languid 
toilet  and  emerged  into  the  drawing-room  when 
Adams  announced  a  visitor. 

"Mr.  Elmslie,  mm,  would  like  to  see 
you." 

"Who  is  he?  "said  Sarah. 
"  The  agent  for  the  flats.     Ask  him  to  come 
in,  Adams." 

Mr.  Elmslie  was  t  .11  and  gray,  with  the  man- 
ner of  an  auctioneer.  Jane  asked  him  to  sit 
down,  which  he  did  with  an  uneasiness  the  ap- 
pearance of  his  chair  did  not  justify. 

"  I  have  come  about  a  letter,"  he  began. 

"A  letter?"  Jane  was  nobly  calm.     This 

137 


C^e  Career  of  inm  tf>$teme 

was  not  the  man  of  last  n'^ht.  How  did  he 
know  about  the  letter  ? 

••  Yes."  He  fidgeted.  "  Some  of  the  ladies 
in  the  Mansions  have  written  complaining  about 
— about  you.*' 

"  About  us ! "    Jane  turned  white. 

"How  interesting!"  said  Sarah,  languidly. 

Mr.  Elmslie  glanced  at  his  surroundings;  he 
wished  he  had  not  come  in  person. 

"  In  fact,  Mrs.  Wilton,  they  have  written 
they  consider  you  too  young,  and — and  cheer- 
ful. They  think  it  improper — in  fact  they 
think  it  gives  a  bad  tone  to  the  Mansions  for 
two  gir^  to  live  alone  here."  He  had  meant 
to  say  It  >  .th  elegance,  bui  he  became  blunt  in 
his  despair. 

"What  impertinence!"  said  Jane,  icily. 
"Still,  Sarah,  I  am  glad  we  look  young;  are 
not  you?  You  know  all  about  us,"  turning  on 
the  wretched  Elmslie.  "  I  wonder  you  took 
the  trouble  to  come  and  tell  us  such  idiocy." 

"  I  don't  see — "  Sarah's  calm  eyes  rested  on 
the  eirissary  who  had  in  very  truth  been  sent 
to  evict  them — "  I  don't  see  what  we  can  do 


to  look  old,  except  wear  wigs. 

138 


suppose  it  is 


mmm 


!«S! 


^If 


Cte  Career  of  flitn,  ^wxnt 

a  lady  opposite  who  ha»  been  writing  about  us. 
Tell  her  we  do  not  like  being  starcU  at  through 
an  opera  glass.  Tell  her  wc  find  it  boring. 
Does  she  accuse  us  of  anything  else  but  youth  ?" 

"  The  truth  is,"  said  EInislic,  slowly,  gazing 
at  Jane,  who  was  evidently  not  wasted  on  him, 
"  that  they  don't  exactly  complain." 

"What  do  they  do  then?" 

"  They  simply  say  that  you  have  no  husbands 
— and  many  visitors — and " 

Jane  rose — a  different  woman  from  the  one 
who  had  trembled  at  his  entrance.  Her  head 
held  very  high  and  backward,  her  eyes  half- 
closed,  she  looked  at  him,  and  then  smiled — 
magnificently.  Whatever  she  had  been,  she 
was  perfectly  untroubled  now. 

"  My  husband  is  in  India,  and  my  sister  is 
not  married.  If  you  want  us  to  go  on  that  ac- 
•ount  we  arc  perfectly  willing.  We,"  with 
calm  insolence,  "  will  leave  the  neighborhood 
unpolluted  for  Miss  Wellwood." 

Mr.  Elmslie  caught  his  breath.  The  letters 
were  suddenly  stigmatized  in  his  mind  as  "  d--d 
cheek." 

"  My  goodness !  "  he  said,  incoherently.  "  I 
9  129 


m 


I:  < 


C»  Career  of  jnti,  ^$imm 

wat  a  (ooi;  I  might  have  known.  I— I  will 
arrange  this  affair  for  you.  I  underttand  these 
complaints  are  insults.  I  will  answer  them  ac- 
cordingly.    I " 

"Then  it  is  nothing?" 

"Quite  so.  Nothing."  If  she  had  been  a 
murtlcrcss  Mr.  Elni*lie  would  not  have  cared. 
All  !)c  knew  wa«  thai  he  had  never  seen  anyone 
so  beautiful  in  all  his  life.  He  Iwweil  himself 
out,  sadly  conscious  that  he,  as  a  visitor,  would 
not  be  welcome  at  Rossetti  Mansions. 

"  And  you  never  mentioned  last  night  and 
that  horrid  man!"  shrieked  the  astonished 
Sarah  when  Elmslie  had  deiwrtcd. 

"I  forgot  him,"  returned  Jane,  meekly. 
But  she  Ind  not;  she  only  preferred  other 
mcthoils.  Last  night's  letter  was  no  worry  to 
her  now,  since  it  was  all  of  a  piece  with  the 
agent's  visit.  But  if  the  writer  waited  use- 
lessly night  after  night  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Wilton 
on  the  sta-rs,  no  one  but  the  night-watchman 
knew. 


130 


iM.mr 


criAPrrcK  xii 


TIIK  PALACE 


TifERR  was  m  escape.  Jane  wa§  forced  to 
"dine  quietly"  with  the  WilKmf*.  Sarah  was 
punfjently  ignored  in  tlie  invitation,  ami  she 
smiletl. 

"Praise  the  piRs!"  was  her  low  comment. 
"Don't  agitate  yourself  to  explain.  I  would 
not  enjoy  it  any  more  than  you  will.  I  am 
going  out.  I  shall  lake  Adams.  I  shall  go  to 
the  Palace." 

"  Why  don't  you  take  an  adorer  instead  ?  " 

"Tliey  wouldn't  go.  Or  if  they  <lid  they'd 
stuff  me  intr»  a  Imx  and  not  let  me  call  my  soul 
my  own.  They  treat  me  as  if  I  were  made  of 
virgin  gold  and  everything  were  acid  and  might 
corrotle  mc.  I  shall  take  Adams.  And  I  won't 
even  sit  in  the  stalls.  I  shall  sit  in  the  upstairs 
balcony." 

••  You  cant." 

131 


li!^' 


*) 


Ci^e  Career  of  ftitiL  i^itibottie 

"  I  can,  my  beloved.  And  if  you  put  me  to 
it  I  can  walk  about  in  the  promenade." 

And  Miss  Egerton  retired  to  the  bedroom 
to  make  a  carefully  studied  toilet.  Evening 
dress  was  out  of  the  question ;  street  dress  was 
too  hot.  Eventually  she  compromised  on  a 
muslin  blouse,  all  creamy  pink  and  lace,  a  chif- 
fon ruffle,  and  a  toque  covered  with  pink  roses. 
These  splendors  she  toned  down  with  an  old 
black  satin  skirt  and  covered  up  with  a  gor- 
geous dark-blue  satin  cloak  adorned  with 
quantities  of  priceless  lace.  She  surveyed  her- 
self with  some  pride,  and  sailed  blandly  into 
the  drawing-room. 

Jane  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  the  be- 
decked one,  with  suspicion. 

"  Oh,  nothing !  You  look  sweet,  but  not 
precisely  inconspicuous ! " 

"Fudge!  I've  had  this  cloak  and  this  old 
skirt  for  forty  years." 

"  You  have  had  that  complexion  for  only 
the  past  forty  minutes."  For  the  pale  Sarah 
was  adorned  with  a  flush  as  of  faint  roses. 

"  Only  ten,  if  you  wish  to  be  exact."  Sarah, 
132 


Ci^e  Cateet  of  fML  iDfOmnt 

unabashed,  departed  to  beat  up  Adams.  That 
damsel  had  likewise  spent  time  on  her  toilet. 
She  had  enlivened  the  smart  black  dress  that 
duty  compelled  her  to  wear  with  a  hat  culled 
from  the  treasuries  of  the  Brompton  Road. 
It  was  large  and  it  bore  plumes  of  black  that 
waved  high. 

"  Good  heavens  I "  cried  S«rah.  "  I  had  no 
idea  you  were  so  pretty,  Adams."  She  sur- 
veyed her  hand-maiden  with  astonishment,  tak- 
ing in  the  black  hair  and  the  creamy  skin  deftly 
brought  out  by  like  tones  in  her  toilet.  Sarah's 
pinkness  and  her  amber-gold  hair  stood  out 
softly  beside  the  low-toned  good  looks  of  her 
maid. 

"  Come  along,  we're  going  in  an  omnibus," 
she  cried,  prosaically,  and  the  enraptured 
Adams  followed  the  rapid  click  of  her  high 
heels  down  the  long  stone  stairs. 

"Buy  the  tickets,  Adams!"  Sarah  spoke 
rather  faintly.  They  were  very  late,  the  en- 
trance to  the  Palace  was  full  of  men,  and 
Sarah's  pink  toque  was  striking  to  the  eye. 
Adams  was  a  London  girl,  and  not  in  the  least 
appalled.     She  purchased  tickets  and  followed 

133 


mBSBmsss8SSSSMasMamumaaBsssss:^rss 


C^e  Career  of  fUttL  i^fOmnt 

Sarah  upstairs.  Three  men  strolled  up  after 
them,  but  Sarah  was  happily  oblivious. 

Upstairs  it  was  pitch  dark.  Someone  was 
in  the  middle  of  a  turn.  It  was  a  slim  girl  in 
voluminous  drapings  on  which  were  chastely 
thrown  varying  transparencies  of  the  heads 
of  different  members  of  the  Royal  family. 
The  audience  applauded  loyally ;  they  were  ac- 
customed to  the  type  of  the  Royal  counte- 
nances, and  did  not  find  them  unhandsome. 

Sarah  leaned  breathless  over  the  rail  of  the 
promenade. 

"  Adams,"  she  breathed,  "  there  aren't  any 
seats." 

Adams,  with  the  air  of  a  masquerading  duch- 
ess, beckoned  her  onward  after  a  white-capped 
maid.  Sarah  was  conscious  of  going  down 
steps  in  darkness,  dazzled  the  while  by  blue  and 
red  flashes  on  the  darkened  stage  where  the 
Royal  family  glared  in  primary  colors,  of  stum- 
bling over  outstretched  legs,  finally  of  sinking 
into  her  seat  with  joy.  The  lights  flashed  up 
as  the  girl  on  the  stage  finished  her  last  gyra- 
tion, and  the  French  gentlemen  whom  Sarah's 
preposterous  heels  had  made  wince  were  all 

134 


|i  1 


Ci^e  Caveet  of  fML  ^fOmnt 

glaring  wrathfuUy  at  her.  But  she  was  letting 
her  cloak  slip  back  from  her  shoulders,  and  her 
innocent  pinkiness  and  the  cloudy  amber  of  her 
small,  drooping  head  worked  a  miracle  with  the 
annoyed  ones.  They  glanced  eloquently  at 
their  friends  instead  of  glaring  at  Sarah.  One 
of  them  offered  her  his  program,  and  she 
calmly  took  it,  but  somehow  he  became  con- 
scious that  he  was  a  hairdresser  in  private  life, 
and  he  felt  it  impossible  to  begin  the  conversa- 
tion he  had  contemplated.  All  that  he  accom- 
plished was  to  sit  out  the  rest  of  the  perform- 
ance without  any  program. 

As  the  next  turn  came  on  Sarah  piously  gave 
thanks  that  she  had  not  come  with  an  adorer. 
Four  men  were  singing,  singing  very  well,  but 
one  of  them  was  so  wobblingly  fat,  either  by 
nature  or  art,  that  he  made  her  feel  ill.  A 
Frenchman  beside  the  hairdresser  made  a  real- 
istic remark  to  him  in  French  that  caused  the 
hapless  Sarah  to  start. 

"  I'm  not  a  bit  amused ! "  she  said,  wrath- 
fuUy. "And  all  this  smoke  when  I'm  not 
smoking  makes  my  head  ache."  For  all  round 
her,  in  the  low-turned  light,   resounded  the 

135 


;*»4rJ  j>«M-«?^i 


»*  »^ •»»*—», 


Cl^e  €axm  of  fML  tf)jtf»me 


I  1 


cheerful  click  of  wax  matches,  followed  by  the 
little  flame  and  glow  as  man  after  man  lighted 
up.  It  was  paradise  with  the  peri  inside  but 
unable  to  enjoy  herself.  Miss  Egerton's  sharp 
eye  traveled  carefully  over  the  house  when  the 
fat  and  pendulous  horror  on  the  stage  had  dis- 
appeared amid  frantic  applause,  and  the  lights 
were  turned  on. 

"  There's  a  woman  smoking  in  one  of  the 
boxes.    I  shall  smoke,"  she  declared,  cheerfully. 
"  Can  we  buy  cigarettes  in  the  bar,  Adams?" 
It  took  a  good  deal  to  jar  Adams. 
"  Certainly,  Miss  Egerton.    Shall  I  get  you 
some?" 
"  I'll  go  with  you." 

And  she  followed  the  doughty,  handsome 
maid  across  the  promenade  and  into  the  refresh- 
ment place.  Adams  disappeared  into  a  crowd 
of  men ;  Sarah  sank  composedly  on  a  wide  sofa 
and  surveyed  the  scene.  Everywhere  were 
men  and  girls  walking  up  and  down  or  seated 
at  small  tables  in  retired  comers  having  drinks. 
Sarah  envied  none  of  them.  They  looked  dull, 
their  scraps  of  talk  that  reached  her  were  coarse 
and  stupid.     Still  she  was  the  only  woman  in 

136 


C^e  eateer  of  fatiL  ^fimnt 


sight  not  talking  to  a  man,  and  it  was  annoy- 
ing to  be  out  of  the  fashion.  Not  for  worlds 
would  she  have  owned  to  herself  tliat  she  re- 
sented the  glances  of  the  attached  and  unat- 
tached males  lavished  on  her  dainty  prettiness, 
where  she  nestled  alone  in  a  corner  of  the  big 
sofa  by  the  door.  Adams  returned  with  the 
cigarettes,  and  Sarah  rose.  They  went  into  the 
promenade  and  leaned  on  the  rail  very  happily 
while  they  discussed  the  house.  Suddenly 
Adams  took  her  mistress  by  the  arm. 

"  Th?t  fair  man  has  followed  you  ever  since 
we  came  in — he'll  speak  to  you  if  you  don't 
move.  And — don't  start.  Miss  Egerton — I 
saw  Mr.  Hopkins  behind  him  just  now  as  I 
turned  my  head !  " 

Sarah  glided  nimbly  to  her  place  as  the  lights 
went  down,  and  the  fair  man  retired  disap- 
pointed. Mr.  Hopkins  hastily  decided  that  he 
must  have  had  the  jumps  to  have  imagined 
Miss  Egerton  here  alone,  and  he  went  down- 
stairs again.     Sarah  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Adams,  you  are  a  priceless  angel!"  she 
said,  solemnly.  "One  more  minute  and  my 
situation— heavens!  suppose  Mr.  Hopkins,  of 

»37 


■-*'-*A»(.mt«  •'-*.■  ■'--*  -'-%*.**  ^  •--♦.^^.■•.•.  ...jfcfc^.^j. 


ZJ^t  €axm  of  iHQL  iMiartie 


all  persons,  had  observed  me  being  accosted  by 
a  man  I  didn't  know !  After  that  escape  I  can 
venture  on  anything  I  " 

She  took  a  cigarette  from  the  box  of  Egyp- 
tians Adams  had  procured,  and  leaned  back 
composedly  in  her  chair  to  a  stout  Frenchman 
behind  her.  He  was  accompanied  by  his 
stouter  wife,  and  when  the  slim,  fair  angel  in 
front  of  him  calmly  asked  him  for  a  light  his 
position  was  truly  appalling.  Had  he  been 
alone,  indeed !— but  alas,  he  was  not !  Polite- 
ness made  him  produce  the  match,  abject  cow- 
ardice in  the  glare  of  his  wife's  eye  made  him 
present  it  to  Sarah  in  silence. 

Anna  Held  came  on  the  stage,  and  for  the 
first  time  Sarah  took  joy  in  the  performance. 
She  laughed  softly  as  she  smoked  her  cigarette, 
oblivious  of  Hopkins  below  stairs  and  the  fair 
man  who  stood  gazing  at  her  from  the  prome- 
nade. The  hairdresser  next  her  was  more  puz- 
zled than  ever.  He  was  obliged  to  dismiss  the 
theory  that  she  was  a  little  girl  run  away  from 
the  schoolroom,  and  fortunately  the  supposi- 
tion he  substituted  was  unknown  to  the  subject 
of  it. 

138 


!s«^t~«»^^^^r«^i«l.^«( 


O^e  Caiter  of  fML  iS>iaxmt 


Sarah  put  out  her  cigarette  against  the  opera 
glass  in  front  of  her. 

"Let's  go  home,  Adams.  I'm  hungry!" 
and  she  yawned.  The  people  were  getting  up 
to  go.  Sarah  and  Adams  went  out  in  the 
crush,  escaping  Hopkins  by  keeping  carefully 
at  his  back.  As  they  edged  along  behind  him 
in  the  bright  light  of  the  street  door  Sarah 
gasped: 
"Adams,  run/" 

She  seized  her  by  the  arm  and  dragged  her 
across  the  street,  then  on  at  top  speed  to  Pic- 
cadilly Circus.  Neither  of  them  spoke  till  they 
were  safely  on  an  omnibus,  wedged  in  by 
grubby,  nondescript  people. 

"  Colonel  Wilton !  "  Adams  ejaculated. 
Solemnly  Sarah  nodded.  "  Bad  old  man ! " 
she  said  virtuously.  She  had  never  seen  a  pair 
of  opera  glasses  that  had  been  leveled  on  her 
all  the  evening  from  a  box,  nor  the  puzzled  ill 
temper  in  a  face  behind  them. 

A  man  got  up  on  the  omi  bus.  It  was  the 
fair  man  who  had  gazed  at  them  throughout 
the  evening.  Sarah  drew  another  long 
breath,  this  time  of  annihilated  conceit.     For 

139 


■^SSSmmottaHmtamiaii 


»-:   :i 


!      11 


iH 


<; 


!| 


() 


'  I    » 


C^e  Camr  of  jin»  ifttfiome 

the  man  sat  down  beside  Adams.  It  was  to 
Adams  that  he  addressed  himself,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  Sarah  comprehended  that 
mistress  and  maid  were  of  the  same  clay.  The 
man  was  a  gentleman  and  perfectly  polite. 
Sarah  found  a  wicked  joy  in  egging  the  uncom- 
fortable and  reluctant  Adams  on  to  mild  flirta- 
tion. In  spite  of  drawbacks  it  was  evident 
that  the  latter  could  hold  her  own.  Sarah  felt 
like  sa}  ng  "  bravo  "  at  every  sharp,  quiet  cut 
the  town-bred  girl  dealt  her  unwelcome  swain. 

"  I  wonder,  though,  what  he  would  think  if  I 
were  to  sit  beside  him  and  talk  to  his  valet." 

The  omnibus  stopped  at  Rutland  Gate,  and 
Adams  whispered  to  her.  They  rose  and  flew 
down  the  steps  and  disappeared  before  the  fair 
man  realized  they  had  departed.  It  was  dark 
and  there  were  no  hansoms.  Miss  Egerton, 
as  she  trudged  along  toward  Hammersmith  in 
uncomfortable  shoes,  felt  that  if  ever  there  was 
an  overrated  pleasure  it  was  going  to  music- 
halls.  But  Adams  sailed  onward,  puflfed  with 
pride. 


140 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  PAIR  OP  BUCCANEERS 

The  clock  was  striking  nine  as  Mrs.  Wilton 
toiled  up  the  stairs  to  her  flat.  She  had  told 
Hopkins  that  she  did  not  mind  stairs ;  to-night 
she  was  conscious  of  each  step  of  them.  She 
looked,  as  she  passed  the  landing  light,  tired ; 
exactly  as  a  woman  looks  who  has  been  out  to 
lunch  and  then  to  a  garden  party,  and  has 
hated  each  worse  than  the  other.  Adams 
opened  the  door  before  she  had  time  to  knock. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you've  come  back,  m'm,"  she 
said,  solemnly. 

"Why?  Is  anything — "  she  was  so  weary 
that  she  was  petulant — "  the  matter  here?  "  as 
if  it  were  the  last  straw  to  have  anything  wrong 
in  the  flat. 

"Those  dreadful  people  who  let  yoi  their 
flat  never  paid  their  gas  bill,  and  the  ga:  man 
came  this  afternoon  and  said  he  must  havt  the 

141 


MMl 


HMUb 


C^e  €Bmt  of  iHrii  tf)ibanie 


i 


four  pound'  they  owed  him.  I  would  not  give 
him  all  that  money." 

"Did  you  have  u?"  Jane's  interruption 
was  to  the  point. 

••  Well,  no/*  unwillingly,  "  I  hadn't.  So  he 
said  he  must  cut  off  the  gas.    And  he  did." 

"What  about  dinner?  There  was  no  din- 
ner?" said  Jane. 

"  No,  m'm !  Miss  Egerton  did  not  come  in. 
I  suppose  she  was  dining  ou*.  My  tea,"  gloom- 
ily, "  I  made  on  the  oil  stove." 

Mrs.  Wilton  was  at  once  aware  that  she 
was  hungry.  It  was  this,  of  course,  that  made 
her  so  depressed. 

"  This  is  too  much !  "  she  said. 

"  I  might  make  you  some  porridge  on  the  oil 
stove." 

Jane  turned  ungratefully  from  the  sugges- 
tion. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Adams ;  I  am  too  h  jry. 
What  I  want  is  dinner."  She  never  .rank 
champagne;  but  it  came  over  her  now  that 
some  soup  and  .1  glass  of  it  would  lift  this 
senseless  worry  off  her.  Where  on  eirth  was 
Sarah?    It  was  not  fair  of  her  to  be  out. 

14a 


t^  Ctmv  or  fM.  Atfionte 


"  Here  is  Mits  Egerton  now,"  remarked  the 
doleful  Adams.  "  Sometimes  she  brings  cakes 
home  with  her." 

"  Cakes!  "  cried  Sarah,  gayly.  "  \Vh.it  are 
you  talking  about  cakes  for  at  this  time  of 
night?  Isn't  there  any  dinner  left?  I'm  get- 
ting old.  The  society  of  a  young  man  no 
longer  makes  me  oblivious  of  food." 

"  There  was  no  dinner,"  announce<l  Jane. 

"  No  dinner!  What  rubbish!  Ill  have  sup- 
per, then,"  with  the  falling  inflection  of  relief. 

"  They've  cut  of!  the  gas,  miss,"  said  Adams. 

"  Well,  there's  a  range — cook  on  the  range." 

"  It  won't  draw." 

"  Won't  draw !  "  cried  Sarah,  flinging  her- 
self down  on  the  sofa.  "  It  must  draw.  I'm 
hungry.    Can't  you  do  something?  " 

"  Just  after  the  t.ian  cut  oflf  the  gas  Mr.  Elm- 
slie  sent  word  over  to  say  he'd  paid  him  rather 
than  let  us  be  inconvenienced.  But  the  gas  man 
had  gone.  I  can't  do  anything,  miss,  till  the 
morning.    Couldn't  you  ladies  go  out  ?  " 

"Why  didn't  I  stay  out?"  groaned  Sarah. 
"  But  I  couldn't." 

"Where's  Mr.  O'Hara?" 
143 


C^e  Career  oC  fM^  Mlmm 


1^!,' 


"I 


••  Yen  now  where  he  ii,"  tglooimly.  "  Din- 
ing out  41  d  going  to  the  Glastonbury  s  bftjl. 
He  has    >'.    She's  his  aunt.    You  knew  that." 

The  wea  i.jess  came  back  to  Mrs.  Wilton's 
face,  "^h  ght,  of  all  nights,  she  wished  de- 
vou  'v  h  it  Sir.  O'Hara  had  not  known  a  soul 
in  to  V  1 

••  V\  i>  It  we  go  to  Mrs.  Osborne's?" 
said  S  I  ih,  i)'    kfy. 

"\\r  r  ii<  I.  i;.in',  .  "  She's  away.  We 
can't  ,     di)^  You  know,"  irrelevantly, 

**  I  hav<  to  b»    1  /iltons'  most  of  to-mor- 

row. .  nd  au>  k\a) ,  Mrs.  Osborne  is  supposed 
to  ha\c  been  off  at  Paddington  in  the  8.20 
train.' 

"  Then  she's  out  of  it !  But,"  firmly,  "  wc 
must  eat.  That  Italian  place  in  the  Strand — 
we  could  go  there  to  supper." 

"  But  it's  miles  from  here." 

"  There's  nowhere  nearer,"  dryly.  "  You 
know  that."  She  spoke  as  securely  as  if  Re- 
gent street  and  Piccadilly  had  f)ecn  wiped  out. 

But  Jane  only  said :  "  No,  tlicre's  nowhere 
nearer." 

It  was  odd  that  after  having  driven  all  the 

144 


die  €Mtm  of  jmv.  €>ttonie 


way  in  a  cab.  Jane,  nevcrthclcit,  should  itand 
brtathku  in  the  entrance  of  the  unfashionable 
restaurant. 

'•  Come  on,"  urged  Sarah.  "  No  one  we 
ever  heard  of  will  be  here.  We're  just  l*ctwcen 
dinner  and  supper,  too.  The  room  s  half- 
empty." 

Jane  cast  hesitation  t)  the  windn. 

"Where  shall  we  go.  upstairs  or  down? 
Down  is  a  la  carte." 

*'  Oh,  down,  if  you've  got  enough  money." 

Sarah's  experience  of  many  restaurants  had 
shown  her  the  error  of  table  d'hote  timing. 
But  it  was  Jane's  party,  so  she  kindly  added  a 
saving  clause  to  her  decision. 

"Heaps!" 

Jane  kept  money  in  little  pile^  on  the  bed- 
room mantelpiece  between  Sarah's  row  of 
shoes.  She  had  hastily  swept  a  pile  of  sover- 
eigns into  her  pocket  just  as  they  were  leav- 
ing that  crowded  retreat. 

She  led  the  way  straight  before  her  and  took 
possession  of  a  table  near  the  door. 

Sarah  gazed  at  the  electric  lamps  with  soft 
rose  shades  on  the  tables,  marked  with  satia- 
10  145 


1      ) 


ii 


i  m  ' 


C^>e  Career  oC  fMk  fOfOmat 

faction  her  own  reflection  in  the  many  mirrors, 
and  regarded  the  astoundingly  frescoed  walls 
with  keen  rapture. 

"  This  is  my  favorite  color  for  lamp  shades," 
she  remarked,  cheerfully.  "  I  know  I  shall  en- 
joy my  supper." 

"  Thank  heaven,  I  can  back  myself  to  order 
it  against  any  man  in  London,"  murmured 
Jane,  piously. 

She  was  apt  to  suffer  many  things  when  din- 
ing with  the  excellent  Hopkins,  who  liked 
jointsr — with  vegetables. 

"  Cold  trout,  Sarah,  or  whitebait?  " 

"  Whitebait.  Mr.  O'Hara  always  feeds  me 
on  cold  trout." 

The  head  waiter  murmured  respectfully  that 
one  portion  of  fish  would  doubtless  be  ample 
for  the  two  ladies,  who  had  chosen  their  wine 
and  omitted  soup  in  a  manner  that  had  placed 
them  high  in  his  estimation. 

"  Filet  d  la  Toscano,"  Jane  commanded. 

"  Shall  we  have  asparagus?  " 

"  Yes,  cold." 

"  And  a  vanilla  souffle.  They  make  heav- 
enly souffles.    And— can  we  have  some  straw- 

146 


:^^ 


mjsa&^ 


Ciie  Camv  of  ^nni  fDiOnmt 


berries — with  kirsch  or  maraschino  ?  Iced,  you 
know." 

The  head  waiter  did  know,  and  the  two  buc- 
caneers sat  awaiting  their  supper.  It  was 
early,  and  there  were  not  many  people.  They 
were  sufficiently  noticeable  as  they  sat  discours- 
ing happily,  and  a  middle-aged  gentleman  op- 
posite eyed  them  with  approbation.  He  spe- 
cially admired  Sarah's  exquisite  wild-rose  com- 
plexion. 

"They're  not  very  quick,"  remarked  that 
lady,  ruefully.  "Jane,  I  shall  die  if  I  do  not 
get  something  to  eat !  " 

"  Have  a  hors  d'amvre." 

**  Never  eat  raw  fish !  "  ungratefully  eyeing 
the  Norwegian  hareng.  Jane  was  eating  a 
buttered  roll,  she  did  not  specially  like  it,  but 
it  kept  her  calm. 

"  If  I  could  turn  pale,"  wailed  Sarah,  "  I 
should  faint.  But  you  can't  expect  everything 
from  a  complexion  that  lives  in  a  china  box  1 " 

"  Here's  the  whitebait." 

Jane  divided  it  triumphantly.  There  was 
"ample"  for  two,  as  the  waiter  had  prophe- 
sied. 

147 


dt^e  Career  of  JML  i^itibome 


m 


i 


if 


Under  the  gentle  influences  of  champagne 
and  whitebait  Sarah  revived.  She  even  be- 
came hilarious.  Her  dark-blue  eyes  shoiM 
starry,  her  laugh  rang  out  nearly  as  clear  and 
sweet  as  Jane's — ^Jane  had  the  most  delicious 
laugh  in  the  world.  And  Jane,  too,  sat  laugh- 
ing and  talking  like  a  happy  child,  her  mo- 
dishly  dressed  hair  and  her  fine  hat  somehow 
adding  point  to  the  fresh  delicacy  of  her  face, 
the  fine,  unspoilt  lines  of  her  firm  red  lips. 
After  all,  her  apptehensions  had  been  no  more 
than  hungry  crossness. 

"  Don't,  don't,  Sarah !  "  she  implored.  For 
Sarah  was  recklessly  flinging  away  her  best 
conversation  and  her  most  cheerful  tales  on  this 
tete-a-tete  dinner  with  a  sister.  Could  Colonel 
Wilton,  who  said  sisters  always  hated  each 
other  and  talked  only  before  men,  but  have 
heard  her ! 

"Oh,  Sarah,  I  am  getting  hysterical.  Do 
stop  making  me  laugh,"  Jane  implored. 

She  put  down  her  knife  and  fork  on  her  plate 
and  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket  for  a  handker- 
chief. A  small  pile  of  coins  came  out  with  it 
and  droppec  with  a  clink  into  her  lap.    She 

148 


mmmmmm 


ssaatm 


C^  Career  oC  ffixn.  a>fiimnt 


looked  at  them  absently.  Then  she  started. 
She  thrust  her  hand  back  into  her  pocket ;  there 
was  nothing  else  in  it.  Every  bit  of  color  left 
her  face. 

She  had  brought  five  shillings  instead  of  five 
sovereigns;  she  had  not  enough  to  pay  for  their 
dinner! 

"Sarah!" 

"  What's  the  matter?  Do  you  see  any  Wil- 
tons?" 

"  Oh,  do  attend,  Sarah !  Have  you  got  any 
money  ?  " 

"  Me?  You  know  I  never  have,"  cheerfully. 
"  Why?    You  said  you'd  plenty." 

"  I  made  a  mistake."  The  filet  was  growing 
colH  on  Jane's  plate.  "Look!  That's  all  I've 
got." 

She  pointed  a  small,  miserable  finger  at 
the  pile  of  silver  that  should  have  been 
gold. 

Sarah  dived  wildly  into  the  recesses  of  her 
gown.  Piecemeal  she  produced  shillings  and 
sixpences. 

"  Two  pounds,"  she  announced,  grimly.  "  It 
is  not  enough." 

«49 


V 


m 


Jane  drank  some  champagne.  Then  she  did 
some  rapid  mental  arithmetic. 

"  It's  not  enough,  not  nearly.  Oh,  that 
soufB^!  Why  did  I  order  it?  It  was  only 
greediness ;  we  didn't  need  it  1 " 

The  middle-aged  man  near  by  was  taking  in 
the  tragedy.  He  gave  way  to  a  broad  smile 
of  approval  at  Sarah's  calm  response. 

"  Well,  it  is  ordered,  and  I'm  going  to  eat 
it.  When  we  get  to  the  bill,  we  can  think  of 
wrestling  with  it.     Your  filet's  getting  cold. 

Jane  took  up  her  knife  and  fork  again,  but 
visions  of  a  row  and  an  outraged  proprietor 
loomed  large  before  her.  Even  the  souffle  did 
not  give  her  courage.  But  the  strawberries 
and  maraschino  made  her  bold. 

"  Best  strawberries  and  maraschino  in  Lon- 
don one  gets  here,"  she  announced,  as  she  ate 
her  first.  At  her  third  she  waxed  cheerful, 
and  she  was  herself  again  throughout  the  coffee 
and  cigarettes.  It  was  Sarah  who  was  doubt- 
ful about  smoking  without  the  stalwart  O'Hara 
to  back  her. 

"  Pouf ! "  said  Jane,  her  cigarette  tight  in  her 
childish  mouth  as  she  got  a  light  from  the  out- 

150 


z:fyt  Cmter  of  fnt$.  fDfimat 

wardly  calm  waiter.  "  They  can  only  ask  us 
to  stop.  This  is  the  first  smoke  I've  had  to- 
day." 

She  leaned  back,  placidly  happy.  They  were 
not  asked  to  stop;  no  one  took  any  notice  of 
them. 

"  I  can't  smoke  in  peace  till  I  know  about 
that  bill,"  said  Sarah,  suddenly.  She  un- 
earthed half-a-crown  from  a  forgotten  pocket 
and  gave  it  to  Jane.  There  was  a  period  of 
awful  suspense ;  then  the  bill  arrived  on  a  plate. 
Jane  glanced  at  it ;  Sarah  snatched  it. 

"Oh,  blessed  half-crown!"  she  cried. 
"  Give  me  that  light,  Jane,"  holding  out  a  slim, 
fair  hand  for  the  spirit  lamp.  For  the  bill  was 
just  two  pounds — they  had  half-a-crown  for 
the  waiter. 

But  when  they  were  in  the  street  it  dawned 
on  them  that  they  had  only  sixpence  to  get  them 
home. 

"  Hansom,  and  pay  at  the  house,"  said  Sarah. 

"  No  money  when  we  get  there.  I  remem- 
ber now.    I  paid  the  bills  yesterday." 

"  The  top  of  an  omnibus  will  be  much  nicer," 
calmly.    "I've  always  wanted  to  go  on  one 

151 


1 


■aaiH 


Mum 


€9e  Caveer  of  fMk  tfHttionie 

at  night.   Come  on.    We'll  get  one  from  Char- 
ing Cross." 

Jane  said  nothing.  Her  mental  aspect  was 
clouded  again  by  the  vision  of  a  man's  face — 
if  he  could  see  them  careering  madly  up  the 
Strand  at  1 1  p.m.  I  But  at  Charing  Cross  there 
was  not  one  omnibus  for  West  Kensington. 

"  We  can't  stay  here,"  said  Jane,  desperately. 
"  We  must  go  to  Piccadilly  Circus  in  the  first 
one  we  see,  and  get  our  own  there." 

She  climbed  as  she  spoke  into  a  dark-green 
omnibus  bearing  the  desired  legend  of  Chapel 
Street  and  Piccadilly.  But  there  was  no  room 
inside.  With  shaking  legs  she  followed  Sarah 
to  the  top  and  to  the  front  seat. 

"  Horses  are  quite  good,"  said  Sarah.  Sarah 
was  enjoying  herself. 

"  We're  all  good  on  this  'bus ! "  The  driver 
turned  round  with  a  drunken  leer.  "  Men  and 
'orses  and  girls  are  all  good !  " 

"Don't  talk  to  him!"  commanded  Jane. 
"  Don't  you  see  he  is  a  pirate?  He's  drunk." 
She  picked  up  her  skirts  and  fled  wildly  down 
the  steps.  "  And  the  conductor — oh,  hear  the 
conductor ! " 

152 


.  .rfj"=(---?w~   -      TwT 


Clie  €axnt  of  fML  fOfimnt 

There  was  no  need  to  draw  attention  to  him. 
Hit  cheerfully  intoxicated  yells  were  loud  in 
their  ears. 

"  Come  on  I  My  'bus  goes  everywhere.  To 
hell,  if  you  like ! "  He  caught  Jane's  arm. 
"  Hi,  miss,  you  can't  get  off  I  If  you  does  we 
charges  sixpence." 

But  she  fled  by  him  after  Sarah  into  the 
crowd.  It  seemed  miles  to  Piccadilly,  and  no 
blue  omnibus  greeted  them  when  they  reached 
the  comer. 

"  We'd  better  walk  to  Mrs.  Osborne's,"  said 
Jane,  desperately.  "  We'll  never  get  to  the  flat. 
Come  across  the  street.  She  might  have  come 
home  unexpectedly.  Anyhow,  they'll  let  us 
m. 

The  lamps  shone  down  on  them  bright  as 
day  as  they  waited  while  the  stream  of  hansoms 
and  omnibuses  passed  ceaselessly,  and  for  once 
the  policeman  lingered  before  stopping  the  traf- 
fic to  let  them  cross. 

"Jane!"  cried  Sarah. 

"  Sarah ! "  muttered  Jane. 

In  a  hansom  close  to  them,  but  driving  rap- 
idly pasv,  were  Mrs.  Wilton  and  her  lord. 

153 


C^f  Ctreer  of  iKtjk  Mbome 


"  Did  they  know  us?  "  Jane  was  sick  with 
horror.  But  she  grew  worse  when  she  turned 
and  beheld  another  hansom  coming  from  the 
other  direction.  Out  of  it  Mr.  Hopkins  and 
Mr.  O'Hara  gazed  straight  at  them. 

There  was  no  question  of  going  to  Mrs. 
Osborne's  now.  Jane  grasped  her  sister  by  the 
arm,  and  they  tore  across  the  street  under  the 
noses  of  omnibus  horses,  but  not  before  they 
had  observed  a  wild  stampede  in  the  hansom, 
and  had  heard  "Stop!  stop!"  from  its  occu- 
pants. 

"Here's  an  omnibus!"  Sarah  jerked  Jane 
into  it.  It  went  to  Putney,  but  that  was  no 
matter.  There  were  two  vacant  seats  on  the 
top.  From  that  eminence  they  descried  two 
men  tearing  back  from  the  point  at  which  they 
had  succeeded  in  stopping  their  hansom.  Mr. 
Hopkins  rushed  to  the  omnibus  as  it  started. 

"  No  room ! "  yelled  the  conductor. 

"We'll  stand!" 

"Not  allowed,"  roarc<1  the  man,  with  a 
glance  at  the  policeman  directing  the  traffic. 

Sarah  looked  no  more,  for  the  relucta  * 
Hopkins  had  dropped  off  the  step.    Jane  w: 

154 


t:^  Camr  of  fML  fDttmtit 


too  agiuted  to  speak.  Not  till  they  were  past 
the  corner  of  Brompton  road  did  she  muster 
courage  to  lead  the  way  down  from  the  shelter- 
ing omnibus  into  the  street.  Penniless,  weary, 
for  once  silent,  Sarah  trudged  beside  her.  It 
had  been  a  day  of  storm.  It  seemed  the  mid- 
dle of  the  night  when  they  came  to  their  own 
door,  but  not  even  the  night-watchman  saw 
them  drag  wearily  into  its  blessed  shelter. 
Half-W9v  up  the  endless  stairs  Jane  lagged  and 
•topped,  by  chance  she  looked  out  of  the  land- 
ing window. 

Winnie  Wellwood's  door  was  open.  In  the 
stream  of  light  from  it  a  man  came  out,  and — 
Jane  Wilton's  heart  stopped  beating — the  man 
was  Van  Ingen  I 

She  set  her  teeth  and  walked  upstairs. 


V» 


I5S 


CHAPTER  XIV 


IXPLANATIONf 


"jANi,"  Mid  Sarah,  half-awake,  "Jana!" 
She  Uxktd  at  the  empty  bed  betide  hen;  then 
sat  up  and  stared  round  the  little  bedroont 
Was  Jane  ill  that  she  was  up  at  half-past  seven 
in  the  morning?  The  electric  bell  ringing  as  it 
had  never  rung  in  that  flat  brought  Adams  at  a 
run.    But  all  her  mistress  said  was : 

"Breakfast."  She  had  seen  a  note  on 
her  bed.  She  read  it,  standing  barefoot  by 
the  window — perhaps  that  made  her  shiver. 
The  note  was  simple  enough : 

"  I've  gone  out—I  had  to  go.  If  the  Wil- 
tons come  I  don't  care.  I'm  done  with  Wil- 
tons. Don't  go  to  Mrs.  Osborne's  till  you  see 
me.  I  may  be  back  in  an  hour;  I  may  stay 
there.    If  I  do  I'll  stay  for  good." 

"'Don't  care!'  'Done  with  Wiltons  I'" 
repeated  Sarah.    "  She's  madl    She  can't  be 

156 


etc  Cimt  of  fM.  Wtmrn 


done  with  them.  Oh,  I  hite  Gtorge  Wilton, 
I  hate  him!  Why  did  I  ever  let  her  mirry 
him?  But  if  she  doesn't  come  back— '  Serah, 
who  never  cried,  wu  crying  wildly.  "  What 
shall  I  do?  Oh,  what  shall  I  do? "  She  knew 
Jane  could  never  pay  the  price  of  being  "  done 
with  Wiltons."  "  I  thought  it  would  be  fun. 
But  it  isn't— funny  t" 

She  dressed,  at  half  past  seven,  because  she 
must  be  doing  something.  She  was  afraid  to 
go  out,  afraid  Jane  might  come  back  and  miss 
her.  If  she  had  dared  be  honest  with  herself 
she  would  have  said,  afraid  Jane  might  not 
come  back.  "  In  an  hour,"  Jane  had  written. 
What  on  earth  did  she  mean  by  an  hour? 
There  were  years  of  minutes,  aging  centuries  of 
them,  and  they  stretched  on  indefinitely.  By 
four  Sarah  Egerton  had  paid  mentally  all  the 
price  that  would  bankrupt  Jane,  the  price  of 
being  done  with  Wiltons.  At  half-past  four 
precisely  an  impetuously  touched  doorbell  gave 
a  hideous  and  disquieting  shock  to  nerves  that 
were  nearly  at  breaking  strain. 

"Adams — "  she  had  to  moisten  her  lips  to 
say  it— "who  is  it?" 

157 


mmm 


C^  Ctmr  of  punk  Mteme 


Adunt  craned  to  the  gUM  of  the  front  door. 
"Mri.  and  Miu  Wilton,  m'm." 

Something  like  electricity  ran  through  Sarah. 
If  Jane  were  done  with  Wiltons  the  could  tell 
them  10.  decently  and  in  order ;  no  lilly  ichooU 
girl  prank  should  do  it  for  her.  And — there 
was  the  oft  chance  yet;  Jane  might  never  tell 
them.  The  lister  walked  back  to  the  drawing* 
room  and  sat  down. 

"  Truth,  mixed  with  Osbomes,  will  do  the 
Wiltons,"  she  said  to  herself,  though  ten 
minutes  ago  she  had  not  cared  whether  or  not 
there  was  a  Wilton  in  the  world.  It  was  queer 
how  determined  she  felt  this :  if  Jane  must  be 
blamed  in  great  things  she  should  stand  clear 
of  small. 

Mrs.  Wilton  could  be  heard  now,  demand- 
ing of  Adams  in  breathless  gasps  if  Mrs. 
George  Wilton  were  at  home.  The  informa- 
tion that  she  was  not  was  useless,  and  Adams, 
momentarily  effaced  by  the  drawing-room  door, 
announced  the  visitors.  Miss  Egerton  rose  to 
receive  them. 

"How  do  you  do,  dear  Mrs.  Wilton?" 
Her  voice  was  oiled  with  the  serpent's  guile; 

IS8 


Oe  €mn  or  jum.  g)iteme 


ihc  kis«cd  her  connection- in-Uw  lightly  on  both 
cheeki— yet,  kiiMd  hert  "  Quite  well  I  hope? 
What  a  bad  horie  you  had  in  your  hansom  laM 
night!  I  wai  ture  he  would  kick  bctorc  you 
got  home.  Do  tit  here  on  the  lofa.  Tea  haa 
juit  come  in." 

Mrt.  Wilton  atood  rigid.  Sarin  was  dewv- 
Ing  nothing;  the  shameless  sight  of  last  night 
had  been  no  delusion. 

"  Where — "  she  said,  hv\  she  w.i«  forced  to 
pause  for  the  breath  horror  had  kn  ;ckeH  .)ui  of 
her,  "where  is  Jane?" 

"  I  don't  know."     It  was  a  tnjthi  jl  answer. 

"  She  should  be  here.  She  shouUl  have  come 
to  me  this  morning  with  an  explanation. 
She " 

"She  was  very  tired  last  night."  calmly. 
"  She  went  out  to  get  rid  of  a  headache.  Will 
you  have  cake  or  bread  and  butter  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton, 
slowly,  sternly,  with  a  full  stop  after  each  word, 
"  that  you  were  in  Piccadilly  Circus  last  night, 
that  we  really  saw  you,  with  our  own  eyes  I 
Oh,  Amelia  f "  she  t*  rned  her  portentous  gaze 
on  her  daughter. 

»59 


nl 


mmmm 


MMN 


C^e  camr  of  fM^  iftteme 


Sarah  softly  and  profanely  hununed,    "Oh, 

Louisa!" 

"  Of  course  it  was,"  said  she,  opening  her 
eyes  innocently  to  meet  Mrs.  Wilton's  store. 
"  Did  you  think  I  should  say  we  were  not  there? 
Is   that  why   you   came  to-day?    You   saw 


>> 


I  '';' 


US. 

"  No,  no.    But  Jane,"  severely,  "  Jane  must 
be  aware  that  only  women  of  a— a  certoin  class 
are  seen  at  night  in  Piccadilly  Circus! " 
"  You  were  there,"  meekly. 
"  Passing  through,  merely." 
"We  did  not  stay  there  all  night."  Sarah 
laughed;  no  one  would  have  known  it  was  with 
iron  determination,  with  a  heart  quaking  for  a 
step  that  did  not  come.    "  What  did  you  think 
we  were  doing— camping  out  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wilton  opened  her  mouth  and  shut  it 
again.     She  was  incapable  of  speech. 

Sarah's  voice,  sweetly  raised,  lost  all  that  un- 
called-for mirth. 

"  It  was  so  unfo5  'unate!  We  had  an  acci- 
dent. We  were  coming  home  from  the  thea- 
tre with  old  Mr.  Osborne  and  Mrs.  Osborne  in 
a  four-wheeler,  and  she  became  faint.    The 

i6o 


I   >{ 


C^e  Caveer  of  fML  fS>iamnt 

four-wheeler  had  no  pneittnatic  tires.    And  the 
driver  was  drunk  I " 

Amelia  sniffed. 

"  Yes,  very  drunk,"  with  calm  asseveration. 
"  We  were  all  obliged  to  get  out,  and  they  took 
the  only  hansom  we  could  fmd.  Of  course 
Mrs.  Osborne  had  to  be  got  home,  and  Mr.  Os- 
borne could  not  leave  his  fainting  daughter-in- 
law.  He  was  to  distressed  at  having  to  desert 
us  I  We  had  to  come  home  in  another  hansom, 
with  a  sober  driver."  Sarah  was  all  the  time 
wondering  why  she  took  this  trouble  to  lie  to 
people  who  to-morrow  might  be  neither  here 
nor  there  to  her  and  Jane. 

But  the  lies  were  a  success.  Mrs.  Wilton 
and  her  daughter  were  calmed.  They  ate  cake 
and  drank  much  tea,  as  their  due  for  the  disap- 
pointment of  not  finding  Jane  and  at  finding 
Sarah  ready  with  an  explanation,  even  bold 
with  one — for  she  dared  much  before  they  left. 
Mrs.  Wilton  said  so,  with  a  decent  varnish,  but 
finally  she  and  her  daughter  departed  amicably. 
Sarah,  with  huge  relief,  washed  off  the  taste  of 
Wilton  cheek,  that  stung  her  lips  a  Judas  red, 
and  sat  down.  The  horrible  bell  rang  again. 
II  i6i 


■MBMIMWil 


C^e  Career  of  jftyn  fPfOmnt 

"Mr.  Hopkins,  Mr.  O'Hara,"  announced 
Adams. 

Mr.  Hopkins's  appearance  was  as  warlike  as 
his  unwarlike  figure  would  permit;  he  wore  de- 
pression and  suspicion  ostentatiously.  But  the 
eyes  of  O'Hara  were  troubled.  At  their  glance 
Sarah's  only  ray  of  consolation  was  that  she 
had  on  her  best  and  most  becoming  tea- 
gown. 

"  We  saw  you — "  Hopkins  seated  himself  by 
her — ''  last  night.  How  could  you  do  such 
a  thing?"  He  was  really  glaring  at  her. 
"And  is  your  sister  not  here?"  disagreeably. 

For  Hopkins  Sarah  had  cared  not  at  all,  and 
the  nameless  aggression  of  his  manner  roused 
her  to  sudden  battle.  No  Hopkins  must  be 
allowed  to  look  like  that,  and  so  speak  of 
Jane! 

"Do  what?"  she  asked,  carelessly.  "I 
think  it  is  you  who  shouldn't  have  done 
it." 

"  But  it  was  extraordinary — dreadful ! " 

"  Who  was  dreadful !  There  were  we,  alone, 
after  an  adventure  with  a  drunken  driver,  hav- 
ing to  get  out  in  Piccadilly  Circus  and  forage 

162 


,gii_ 


Mi& 


Ci^e  Career  of  fHviL  ^tfMnme 

for  ourselves.  And  there  were  you,  two  self- 
ish men  in  a  hansom  with  a  sober  driver,  and 
you  never  even  offered  him  to  us." 

"  We  would  have,"  Hopkins  interposed, 
"  but  you  ran !  You  went  on  an  omnibun — a 
Putney  omnibus."  There  was  blood-curdling 
tragedy  in  his  tone. 

"  We  had  no  time  to  ofifer  you  our  hansom," 
began  O'Hara.  '*  You  were  so  quick,  so  very, 
very  quick,  as  if  you  wanted "  he  paused. 

Sarah  was  regarding  him  intently.  He 
avoided  his  doom  by  that  pause.  Not  so  Mr. 
Hopkins,  who  rushed  on  his. 

"  We  were  sure  you  did  not  want  us  to  see 
you,"  he  said,  unpleasantly. 

"  As  if  we  should  mind  what  you  saw  us 
do!"  Sarah  made  that  "you"  scathing. 
"  And  why,  then,  did  you  come  here  to-day?  " 
she  inquired,  with  the  air  of  her  late  visitor. 
"  We  were  most  unhappy  last  night.  We  did 
not  like  the  streets,  or  the  men — they  stared  at 
us.    But  as  for  you " 

"  Of  course  they  did,"  said  Hopkins,  gruffly. 
"  How  horrible  for  you  both !  "  The  "  both  " 
was  added  to  appease  Sarah ;  but  he  thought  of 

163 


■Ml 


C^  Career  of  fmrn*  iBfSbmm 


bobd,  bad  men  staring  at  his  beloved  Jane,  and 
felt  quite  ill. 

"  And  you  drove  on,"  said  Sarah,  softly. 
"  Yon  did  not  care  enough  about  us  to  get  out 
of  your  hansom."  Her  voice  was  icy.  "  We 
had  been  dining  out.  w«  were  very  tired,  and 
at  least  you  could  have  got  us  a  hansom."  She 
thought  as  fhe  said  it,  *'  What  fools  we  were 
not  to  stay  still  and  make  tbem  get  one."  Tlien 
she  thought  it  wise  to  thaw.  "  And  we  were  a 
little— a  little  frightened."  Could  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton have  heard  that  gentle,  cooing  voi«! 

"  Your  sister  goes  out  a  great  d«d,"  said 
Hopkins,  suddenly,  "  for  a  person  who  dislikes 
it.    She  refused  to  go  to  the  theatre  with  me!  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Sarah's  eyes  were 
too  childlike,  too  wide. 

"  I  mean  I  was  at  the  Lyceum  on  Saturday 
night." 

"Well,"  she  looked  really  babyish,  "Jane 
was  not,  though  I  suppose  she  had  a  right  to 
be  if  she  had  wanted  to." 

"  In  the  Duke  of  Alte-Henneberg's  box," 
dryly,  "  with  three  men  and  no  wcwien !  I 
must  say  I  was  surprised ! " 

164 


Zl^t  €dxm  of  fMi,  iDtfbomt 


"Then  you  wasted  an  emotion,"  returned 
Sarah,  very  quietly,  "  on  our  cousin,  Mrs.  Os- 
borne. Jane  would  not  speak  to  a  man  like  the 
Duke;  she  couldn't  because  she  doesn't  know 
him.  But  I  suppose  even  Jane  can't  help  what 
Mrs.  Osborne  does.  Do  you  imagine  she  would 
take  the  trouble  to  lie — to  you — about  going 
to  a  theatre?  She  has  no  need !  "  (With  a  sis- 
ter to  do  it  for  her. ) 

"  Mrs.  Osborne !  "  Hopkins  gasped.  "  Was 
that  Mrs.  Osborne?  Then — oh,  that  explains 
it!  I — I  couldn't  get  near;  I'd  no  glass;  and  I 
never  thought  your  sister  could  have  that  man- 
ner— with  a  man  like  Alte-Henneberg.  I — 
can  you  forgive  me  for  being  such  a  fool?" 
His  countenance  had  assumed  the  expression  of 
the  villain  of  a  piece  when  his  villainy  is 
brought  home  to  him.  Even  Sarah  was  mol- 
lified by  his  crestfallen,  guilty  face. 

"  Oh,  what  does  it  matter?  "  she  said.  "  But 
last  night — we  had  a  dreadful  time  last  night ! 
I'm — I'm  so  wretched  to-day!  " 

Emotion  was  in  her  voice,  and  O'Hara 
longed  for  a  screen  that  he  might  humble  him- 
self and  kiss  her  hand  in  secret.     Hopkins  in 

165 


C^e  Career  of  fMi*  g)ifl»me 


humiliation  was  calling  himself  by  every  name, 
when  the  drawing-room  door  was  flung  open 
— not  by  Adams. 

A  man,  tall,  clean-shaven,  grimly  handsome, 
stood  in  the  doorway.  Sarah,  behind  Hop- 
kins's back,  clutched  O'Hara  by  the  arm. 

"  Go !  Take  him  away !  "  she  said,  not  above 
her  breath ;  but  he  heard.    "  Go  quick !  " 

To  this  day  Mr.  Hopkins  does  not  know  why 
he  did  not  wait  for  Mrs.  Wilton,  or  for  his 
tea.  He  was  so  instantly  out  on  the  landing, 
hat  in  hand,  that  he  never  dreamed  O'Hara 
put  him  there.  He  did  not  look  at  O'Hara,  or 
he  would  have  seen  that  he  was  deadly  pale, 
as  pale  as  Sarah  left  behind— Sarah,  who,  as 
the  door  closed  behind  Hopkins's  unconscious 
back,  stood  staring  at  the  Background!  If  a 
mind  can  jabber,  hers  did  it  then. 

"Here!     He's  here!      What   brings   him 
here?    What  shall  I  do?    What  shall  I  do?  " 


i66 


..-->■ .  ..^...a_^„.^jM»^ 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE  LION   UNMASKS 

Old  Lord  de  Fort  stared.  He  put  up  his 
eyeglass  and  stared  again ;  then  he  tittered.  He 
always  tittered  when  affairs— other  peoples  af- 
fairs—looked involved.  The  crush  in  which 
Lady  Lanark  was  exploiting  her  visiting  list 
suddenly  became  so  interesting  as  to  obviate 
the  heat  of  it  and  the  treading  on  his  lordship's 
gouty  toe.  "Mrs.  Osborne,"  he  reflected, 
"without  Mr.  Van  Ingen!  Mr.  Van  Ingen, 
with  Miss  Delabere!  There  have  been  events. 
Gad!  She  couldn't  have  been  fool  enough  to 
refuse  him !  "  And  he  studied  Mrs.  Osborne's 
face. 

It  was  not  as  usual,  though  for  his  life  he 
could  not  tell  Avhat  made  the  change  in  it.  She 
had  not  refused  the  American  prince,  or  she 
would  not  glance  furtively  at  his  immaculate 

167 


;< 


.1 


C<K  Career  of  fMk  Qfimw 

btck.  The  Dclabere  girl— he  looked  at  her— 
wai  pretty,  seventeen  and  not  clever.  "  Lord, 
Lord  I  "  said  de  Fort,  piously,  "  she  must  have 
given  him  too  much  caviare  to  make  him  fly 
to  jam;  raspberry  jam,"  unkindly — for  the 
Delabere  cheeks  were  dyed  with  elation.  "  I 
shall  J-e  this  through."  He  trotted  downstairs 
and  employed  half  an  hour  it*  the  hall,  outside 
the  tea-room  door. 

Mrs.  Osborne,  with  the  Duke  of  Alte-Hen- 
iieberg  in  tow,  passed  him  so  closely  that  her 
gcwn  brushed  him.  She  was  not  hearing  a 
word  the  Duke  of  Alte-I  lenneberg  said,  and 
she  never  saw  Lord  de  Fort  at  all.  She  looked 
as  lovely  as  a  painting,  and  as  hard.  He  saw 
now  where  the  change  was  in  her.  Her  scar- 
let, triumphant  lips  were  straight  shut.  She 
looked  driven. 

"Do  you  mind  letting  me  pass?"  The 
voice  took  no  pains  to  be  civil,  and  Lord  de 
Fort  started. 

It  was  Van  Ingen,  at  Mrs.  Osborne's  heels. 
His  little  idea  had  been  erroneous,  and  he  hated 
to  waste  an  idea.  To  try  and  save  it  he 
hastened  after  the  man  who  had  shoved  past 

i68 


iirf^itfJlifcMfciii^l    ^fct"  ^ 


^iM^Maiii 


him— and  obtained  nothing  whatever  for  hii 
paint. 

Eaton  Place  is  no  distance  from  Eaton 
Square.  Mrs.  Osborne  and  her  German  High- 
ness were  slowly  descending  the  steps  to  walk 
the  short  way  between  Lady  Lanark's  door  and 
hers.  Mr.  Van  Ingen,  not  a  yard  from  them, 
jumped  hastily  into  his  smart  private  hansom 
and  gave  an  order  Lord  de  Fort  did  not  hear. 

Mrs.  Osborne  heard — and  never  changed  her 
step  nor  flickered  an  eyelid.  It  was  no  con- 
cern of  hers,  apparently,  where  Mr.  Van  Ingen 
went.  She  went  home,  and  stayed  at  home. 
As  for  the  Delabere  girl,  she  never  gave  a 
thought  to  her.  But  Lord  de  Fort  remem- 
bered afterward  that  she  had  looked  very  ill 
at  the  Lanark  tea. 

Never  in  all  her  life  had  Mrs.  Osborne 
dressed  as  she  dressed  that  evening  for  her 
solitary  dinner.  She  dismissed  gown  afi.er 
gown.  They  were  too  pale,  too  meek.  She 
must  have  color  to-night ;  must  "  go  proud  in 
scarlet,  brave  in  red."  She  was  like  a  pale 
flame  when  she  was  dressed ;  her  very  servants 
gaped  at  her  beauty  as  she  sat  alone  in  her  din- 

169 


ll 


l^^^^^__^ 


lg|g|gg|g| 


C^e  Ctteet  oC  fML  €>fimtit 


\ng-TOom,  her  gown  a  heart  of  color  to  the 
lombre  gold-embroidered  hai^ingt.  But  for 
all  the  red  of  it  she  was  cold.  Jane  Wilton 
would  have  ortlered  a  fire  and  crouchetl  over 
it,  regardless  that  the  night  was  June,  and  suf- 
focating. Mr.H.  Osborne  sat  still,  a  woman  in 
pale  scarlet,  all  alone  at  a  table  decked  with  dull 
orchids,  warm  with  red  light  from  the  shaded 
candles  that  flickered  in  the  air  fn^m  the  open 
window.  As  she  had  sat  still  when  the  ser- 
vants were  in  the  room  she  was  still  when  they 
were  gone — with  the  stillness  of  a  wild  animal 
that  will  not  stir  one  way  or  the  other  for  fear 
of  a  hidden  trap.  Surely  there  could  be  no 
trap  for  Mrs.  Osborne,  the  reigning  beauty  of 
a  set  that  was  small  because  there  can  be  but 
one  top  layer  of  eggs  in  a  basket,  f  ler  beauty 
was  unaltered,  her  money  undoubted.  But  her 
lover  had  not  spoken  to  her  that  afternoon ;  he 
had  spent  his  time  with  a  girl,  though  his  set 
ignored  girls.  It  was  not  what  he  had  done 
but  the  reason  of  his  doing  it  that  made  Mrs. 
Osborne's  lips  hard-set. 

She  looKcd  up  at  the  clock,  though  she  knew 
the  time,  since  her  heart  had  ticked  true  to 

170 


C^e  €$:tm  oC  fML  OMmntr 


every  second  of  it.  Half*past  nine!  She 
would  give  him  till  midnight.  lie  hml  never 
come  to  her  house  alone  at  night,  never  imin- 
vited;  but  if  e  loved  her  he  would  do  Iwth 
to-night.  The  candle*  shot  up  leaping  flame* 
in  the  sudden  draughts  frotu  the  d(K)r;  Mr*. 
Osborne's  heart  leaj>ed  to  match  ihem.  lc.it>cd 
almost  out  of  her  Ixxly.  Yet  she  only  lifted 
her  eyes  with  a  little,  slighting  glance. 

"  Mr.  Van  Ingen."  said  the  butler.  If  the 
butler  was  surprised  she  did  Jiot  care. 

Miles  was  in  the  doorw.iy,  very  tail  against 
the  brilliant  h.ill  l)chin<l  him.  It  was  odd  that 
instead  of  looking  at  his  f.ice  she  only  thought 
what  a  curious  "  lamplight  cfTect  "  he  made, 
standin  there  with  white  light  Iwhind  him  and 
red  cai  ilelight  on  the  black  and  white  of  his 
evening  clothes. 

The  butler  closed  the  door  softly.  Perhaps 
he  had  not  noticeil  that  neither  hi«^  mistress  nor 
Mr.  V.in  Ingen  had  said  one  word.  But  it 
was  Va!i  Ingen  who  could  not  s|)eak. 

"  What  came  ye  out  for  to  sec  ?  "  They  w  ere 
old  words,  and  not  visual  in  society,  but  they 
came  into  his  head.     Whatever  he  had  come 

171 


Mi 


^^^^^^^^^^l_^ 


MiaOCOfY   RISOIUTION   TBI  CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No   2) 


136 

2.0 


140 


1^ 


1.8 


^    /APPLIED  IN/HGE 


1653   Ecla!    Mam    Slr«l 

Rochester.    New    fork         14609       USA 

(716)   482  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)    288  -  5989  -  Fa» 


€]^e  Career  of  f^tfL  fDfOxmt 


to  see  it  was  not  this:  Mrs.  Osborne  like  a 
flame  so  incandescent  that  the  burn  of  it  would 
feel  cold,  seated  at  her  dinner  table  among  her 
everyday  surroundings,  with  a  plate  and  coffee 
and  fruit  before  her,  with  quiet  eyes  th-\t  met 
his  with — was  it  wonder,  or — something  else? 
Pie  (lid  not  know, 

"Is  anything  the  matter?"  she  said,  tran- 
quilly. "You  don't  see  a  ghost,  do  you?" 
Will  you  have  some  Benedictine  or  anything?  " 
She  was  miles  awav  from  him,  unapproachable. 

Benedictine !  It  dawned  on  him  that  he  had 
not  dined.  He  had  been  too  angry,  too  ap- 
palled. But  the  woman  he  was  angry  with 
was  still  at  the  last  stage  of  her  unexceptionable 
dinner.  The  small  thought  found  his  tongue 
for  him. 

"  I  forgot  dinner."  He  stopped  her  with  a 
sharp  gesture  as  she  would  have  rung  a  silver 
bell.  "  I — for  God's  sake  tell  me  why  you 
said  you  went  to  Hastings  last  night." 

Mrs.  Osborne's  head  went  back  a  little, 
slowly.  She  had  never  seen  him  like  this;  she 
did  not  know  if  she  loved  him  so — or  hated  him. 
She  answered  as  if  she  did  neither. 

172 


Cl^e  Career  of  f^tfL  ^Disbome 

*•  I  said  I  was  going.     1  didn't  go.     Why?" 

"  You  weren't  here." 

"  I  wasn't  here.  You're  quite  riglit.  I  met 
my  Hastings  protegee,"  her  voice  was  too  even 
to  be  mocking,  "  at  the  station.  I  dined  witli 
her,  I  got  home  ahout  midnight.  After  this 
afternoon  I  don't  see  why  this  catechism.  My 
movements  did  not  apparently  concern  you 
then." 

**  I  couldn't  trust  myself  to  go  near  you," 
sulkily.  "  I  wouldn't  believe  my  eyes  when 
I  saw  you  last  evening  driving  along  the 
Brompton  Road  in  a  hansom.  You  were 
vilely  dressed  and  different  somehow.  But  I 
knew  it  was  you." 

"  It  was  I,  certainly.  Aren't  you  going  to 
sit  down?  You  are  not  at  the  bar  of  justice, 
even  though  I  seem  to  be."  It  was  not  her 
words  that  made  him  look  at  her,  but  something 
in  the  way  she  said  them.  Something  critical 
behind  her  coldness  came  suddenly  home  to 
him. 

"  I'm  a  brute,  but  I've  been  half-mad.  When 
you  think  a  woman  like  the  stars  it's  a  jar  to 
see  her  in  the  sort  of  clothes  she  never  wears, 

173 


■mi-. 


i% 


CQe  Career  of  fatsL  ^sUbotnt 

and  a  thick  veil — if  she's  told  you  she'd  be  in 
the  country!  And  there's  more — I  can't  tell 
you  all,  it's  too  confused.  That  cousin  of 
yours,  I  saw  her  one  night  when  you'd  told 
me  she  was  going  away  with  you — saw  her 
at  a  music  hall,  with — well,  Lord  knows  whor 
she  was  with !  I  saw  a  man  speak  to  her.  And 
last  night — I  thought  if  you  had  changed  your 
mind  and  stayed  in  town  you'd  be  at  the  Glas- 
tonburys',  and  you  weren't  there.  I  only 
stayed  ten  minutes.  I  went  along  Piccadilly 
— and  stood  like  a  fool,  till  the  woman  I 
thought  was  you  jumped  on  an  omnibus!  But 
that  wasn't  you,  like " 

Mrs.  Osborne  interrupted  him : 

"  If  it  had  been  I— what  of  it?  " 

"  There  is  no  need  to  tell  you,"  said  Van  In- 
gen.  "  But — it  wasn't !  I  know  that,  or  I 
couldn't  tell  you  the  rest.  I  went  to  supper  at 
a  woman's  flat  in  West  Kensington.  And  she 
was — I  wasn't  civil  to  her;  I  wasn't  in  a  civil 
temper " 

"  And  you  wreaked  it,"  softly,  "  on  a  poor 
soul  like  that !  "  It  did  not  dawn  on  him  that 
he  had  not  said  the  woman  was  not  a  lady ;  Mrs. 

174 


Cl^e  Career  of  fiixii,  Osborne 


Osborne  had  never  needed  the  i's  of  conversa- 
tion dotted. 

"  I  did  nothing  of  the  kind,"  sullenly.  "  But 
she  turned  on  me  and  said  she  was  as  good  as 
the  woman  I  was  so  hit  with.  That  if  I  chose 
to  go  upstairs  I  would  see  my  fine  Mrs.  Os- 
borne, with  the  men  who  came  home  with  her 
each  time  she  came  to  her  flat.  And  she  gave 
me  the  dates  of  her  coming." 

"Did  you  go  upstairs?"  said  Mrs.  Os- 
borne, gently. 

Van  Ingen's  face  burned  dully. 

"  She  was  a  woman ;  I  couldn't  knock  her 
down.  I  went  home.  But — it  bit  me  to  the 
bone." 

He  had  never  moved  from  where  he  stood 
since  the  first  gesture  that  had  stopped  her 
from  ringing  the  bell.  Mrs.  Osborne  looked 
at  him,  and  every  line  of  the  face  that  she  loved 
seemed  new  to  her. 

"  Miles,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  if  I  had  ten  flats 
in  Kensington  should  you  think  me  the  sort 
of  •       ;an  to  take  men  to  them  ? " 

"  No,"  he  said.  He  came  toward  her  and 
held  out  his  hands.  "  Forgive  me,  and  let  it 
go." 

1/5 


i 


hi 
t 


\a^t  €axztt  of  flLViL  fDfOiOtnt 

But  she  went  on  as  if  he  had  not  heard,  as 
ii  she  did  not  sec  the  strong,  fine  hands  she 
loved. 

"  Let  us  suppose  a  case,"  she  said.  "  If  I 
were  not  Mrs.  Osborne,  but  a  woman  who  mas- 
queraded in  her  shoes,  who  did  so  to  see  you, 
to  be  with  you;  if  I  had  been  a  woman  with  a 
husband,  wlio  had  never  had  a  thought  of  him 
beyond  'iving  in  peace  and  paying  his  bills; 
who,  as  his  wife,  could  never  have  come  m 
touch  with  you ;  who  longed  to  live  a  little,  to 
get  out  of  the  deadly,  dull  milieu  that  belonged 
to  her,  then  you  could  treat  me  as  you  treat 
me  now — or  would  you?" 

He  was  staring  at  her,  his  face  perplexed, 
half-suspicious.  But  as  he  stared  it  cleared, 
though  not  to  laughter.  It  was  not  the  woman 
he  loved  he  thought  of,  but  Mrs.  Osborne,  the 
run-after,  the  pink  of  fashion,  the  season's 
success.  Not  a  man  in  town  but  envied  him 
his  plane  at  her  side,  her  use  of  his  carriages. 
And  it  was  she,  the  unapproachable,  the  woman 
he  had  known  for  years,  Osborne's  widow,  who 
asked  him  this.  He  had  brcjght  it  on  himself, 
for  he  had  insulted  her;  but  he  would  insult 

176 


Zl^t  Career  of  fisitfL  iDnimnt 


her  no  more  by  letting  her  imagine  he  could 
care  for  such  a  woman  as  she  had  pictured. 

"  All  that."  he  said,  quickly,  "  would  not  be 
youf  I  never  could  have  loved  a  woman  like 
that." 

"  You  would  not,"  she  smiled  securely,  "  let 
her  get  a  divorce  and  then  marry  her  ? "  In 
her  mind  was  that  insane  adoration  of  Jane 
Wilton  for  the  Background  who  was  Mrs,  Os- 
borne's Miles  Van  Ingen. 

"  A  woman  like  that  would  not  expect  me  to 
marry  her  I " 

"  But— if  she  did?  if  she  came  and  told  you 
all  she  had  done  to  make  you  care  for  her,  even 
to  pretending  to  be  someone  else  whose  hus- 
band was  dead  ?  " 

He  had  Puritan  ancestors  as  well  as  Knicker- 
bocker, and  they  spoke  in  him  now;  he  did  not 
often  give  them  an  opportunity. 

"I  won't  have  you  draw  yourself  into  sup- 
posititious cases  like  this.  My  wife  won't  be 
a  divorced  woman.  I  won't  have  you  put 
yourself  into  any  such  woman's  place."  He 
had  thought  of  her  in  a  worse  place  this  very 
day,  hut  she  did  not  say  so. 

12  177 


€Qe  Career  of  ffitn*  fOfOmnt 

"If  she  loved  you  enough  not  to  care  for 
divorce— or  marriage!  Would  you  take  her? 
would  you  take  me  if  I  were  what  I've  been 
saying?"  For  if  he  had  been  :.3  bad,  and 
worse,  she  would  have  gone  with  him  gladly, 
happier  to  have  his  love,  even  if  he  beat  her, 
than  to  have  married  a  king. 

"  You  mean,"  slowly,  "  if  you  were  an  im- 
poster?" 

The  word  was  electric.  Mrs.  Osborne's 
hand  caught  the  table  sharply,  as  if  the  solid 
wood  were  a  support. 

"An  imposter!"  He  had  never  seen  her 
pale  before.  Now  her  lips  showed  like  new 
blood  5'>illed  on  the  lips  of  the  dead.  "  An  im- 
poster? I  didn't  mean  quite  that.  I  only 
meant  a  woman  who  had  lied  about  her  cir- 
cumstances, her  relations — not  herself.  Could 
you  love  me  if  I  were  like  that  ?  " 

For  a  moment  he  stood  bewildered ;  then  he 
knew  it  was  only  anger  in  her  face.  He  came 
close  to  her,  masterful,  not  to  be  denied.  He 
knelt  beside  her,  his  dark,  smooth  head  against 
her  shoulder,  his  arms  locked  round  her  love- 
liness. 

178 


Zl^t  Cateer  of  flixn.  €>iffxmt 


••Don't,"  he  whispered,  '•don't!  I  deserve 
you  to  score  off  me.  I  was  mad  to-day,  but 
you've  made  me  pay  for  what  I  dared  think 
of  you.  Sweetheart,  don't  say  any  more  such 
things.  I  know  you  could  not  He.  I'd  sooner 
see  you  dead  than  insult  you  by  thinking  you 
could  deceive  me  in  even  the  littlest  way."  His 
voice  must  have  thrilled  to  her  soul,  for  her 
hands  gripped  him  desperately.  "  You  couldn't 
be  like  that,  even  for  love.  Don't  you  know 
that  women  who  are  liars  can't  love?  They 
can't  be  true." 

"  You  mean  all  that  ?  "  Her  voice  was  sharp, 
iwsijtent. 

"  All  that.  Don't  punish  me  any  more, 
though  I  «1eserve  it.  I've  something  still  to 
confess.  I  did  doubt  you.  I  went  to  West 
Kensington  to-day." 

"Well?"  said  Mrs.  Osborne,  as  tranquilly 
as  if  she  had  known  it. 

"  Well,"  his  clasp  loosened  as  he  leaned  back 
to  look  her  in  the  face,  "  your  cousin's  affairs 
are  no  business  of  mine,  except  that  I  won't 
have  it  said  that  she  lived  with  my  wife.  When 
I  ask  for  Mrs.  Wilton,  as  that  cursed  woman 

>;9 


C^e  Career  of  fiivn.  0iamnt 


below  stairs  told  me,  and  find  Miss  Egerton,  I 
can't  help  drawing  my  own  conclusions.  Es- 
pecially when  I  don't  find  her  alone." 

Mrs.  OslK)rnc  got  up.  She  was  curiously 
magnificent ;  hci  Ijcauty  went  home  to  him  as 
it  had  never  done  before.  All  the  light  in  the 
room  seemed  centred  on  her  marvelous  face, 
the  pale  scarlet  of  her  gown,  as  she  stood  tall 
beside  him. 

•'  \Jilcs,  I  want  a  littL*  spade  truth,"  she 
said,  slowly,  and  her  voice  was  the  voice  he 
had  heard  h-r  use  only  to  sa)  she  loved  him ; 
it  came  soft  and  slow  like  melted  lava,  as  warm 
and  as  dangerous.  She  made  no  eflTort  what- 
ever to  defend  her  cousm.  "  You  have  found 
your  Mrs.  Wilton,  as  you  would  never  have 
found  me.  But  if  I  were  Mrs.  Wilton— I  don't 
mean  pour  rirc,  but  really  married  to  a  Wilton, 

a  middle-class  man  in  a  marching  regiment 

and  had  come  up  to  town  to  a  poor  little  flat 
and  written  to  you  to  come  and  sec  me,  would 
you  have  come?  Would  it  have  been  all  like 
this?" 

He  laughed.    He  was  iMJsotted  by  her  l>eauty, 
her  sumptuousness.    The  «pade  truth  was  a 

i8o 


Cte  Career  of  fKtn.  mtmit 


joke,  like  the  reM  of  her  words,  but  if  she 

wanted  it  she  should  have  it. 
••  I'd  have  come.  yes.   Once '  " 
**  When  you  had  found  me  surrounded  by 

middle-class  relations,  a  mother-in-law,  sisters, 

what  would  you  have  ilmc  next?  " 

"  ^"«  ^way."  promptly.  "  We're  talking 
truth  U  night ;  I'll  tell  you  anything.  When  I 
first  saw  you  this  year  I'd  completely  forgotten 
you.  If  you  had  not  l>ecn  Mrs.  Osb<irne,  and 
the  fashion,  I  don't  think  I'd  have  ever  thought 
of  you  as  I  have.  It  wouldn'c  have  occurred 
to  me.  You  wouldn't  have  come  in  my  way, 
don't  you  see?  If  I  had  fallen  in  love  with  you. 
"^  -well,  I  wouldn't  have  asked  you  to  run  away 
with  me  and  Hive  a  divorce!  I've  no  fancy 
for  shopworn  goods  in  women  or  anything 
else." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  lent  me  your  carriages, 
or  your  kind  countenance  at  balls?  " 

"Carriages!  Oh,  that,  if  you  liked,  cer- 
tainly! But  I  didn't  mean  that  sort  of  mean- 
ingless politeness.  I  mean;  marrying.  I—" 
and  he  laughed—"  I  certainly  never  would  have 
thought  of  passing  througl   the  fire  and  soot 

I8i 


€(e  Cateet  oC  fiitn.  tfHttnme 


of  the  divorce  court  to  marry  yott.  I  alwayi 
want  the  pick  of  the  basket,  likr  Mrs.  Os- 
borne!" 

*•  Then  you  only  love  me  for  my  sticcc«it— my 
vogue.    Oh,  Mile* I"  mockingly. 

"Oh,  well,  I  <lare  »av  that  had  *i)mething 
to  do  with  it.  I  wouldn't  have  loved  Mr«.  Wil- 
ton pour  rir(  or  anything  else.  By  the  way, 
you  will  really  have  to  tell  your  cousin— tht 
text  of  all  this — that  she  can't  come  here  any 
more.  I  won't  have  you  mixed  up  with  doubt- 
ful Mrs.  Wiltons." 

"  She  won't  come — after  to-day,"  very 
quietly.  "  She  is  not  really  Mrs.  Wilton, 
though.    She " 

"  I  don't  care  who  she  is,  so  long  as  you 
are  Mrs.  Osborne — though  I'm  not  content 
with  her,  I  want  Mrs.  Van  Ingen."  And  iclat, 
and  envy,  and  the  great  beauty  of  '  .0  season. 
But  he  did  not  say  so. 

"  I'm  rather  tired  of  Mrs.  Osborne  myself," 
She  laughed  lightly.  "And  you're  right— 
there's  no  need  for  her  to  last  much  longer. 
But."  she  paused,  looked  long  and  long  at  him, 
"  she's  been  a  very  hapi^/  woman !  " 

183 


CQe  Career  oC  ilir».  Oflmme 


••  Shell  be  happier  yet,"  he  whiipr-U,  tnd 
the  words  loundefl  fatuous. 

"  I  think  she  will."  She  said  it  with  delibcr- 
ation.  ••  I  think  she  will.  She  will  t)e  clean  - 
sighted,  leading  you  no  more  will-o'-the-wisp 
chases.  Miles,  du  you  know  that  it  is  nearly 
the  middle  of  the  night  ?  Say  poo<l-h>c  to  me 
and  go." 

His  kiss  was  quick— so  rnick  that  it  hurt 
her  soul.  Miles  Van  Ingc.i  nad  made  many 
•cars  in  women's  lives,  but  he  hati  scarred  one 
woman's  soul. 

"  It's  more  good-bye  than  you  think.  I  have 
to  go  away  to-morrow— not  your  kind  of  go- 
ing away,  but  really.  I  won't  be  back  for  a 
week." 

From  the  weary,  longing  sound  in  her  voice 
she  might  have  said,  "  I  won't  be  back  for  eter- 
nity." She  turned  to  him  with  a  sudden  pas- 
sionate vehemence. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  really  love  me? " 

He  looked  at  her.    He  did  not  like  the  tone. 

"  Don't  expect  me  to  be  too  constant  to—" 
he  paused — "  to  Mrs.  Van  Ingen.  I  am  a  way- 
farer.    I  believe  now  that  no  other  woman  ever 

i8j 


i* 


m 


i? 


C)e  Career  of  fML  tf)tfiame 

could  appeal  to  me.  Vm  new,  life  is  new,  and 
I've  got  money,  and  that  is  good — sufficient  for 
the  present — with  you." 

**  Don't  tell  me  bare  truths  now— don't  you 
know  that  a  man  should  never  tell  the  truth  to 
the  woman  who  loves  him?  " 

"  You  are  not  a  fool."  She  stiffened.  "The 
world  is  my  country — this  is  only  an  interlude. 
I  shall  want  to  go  out  from  civilization  again, 
to  feel  the  sea.  the  wind  across  the  prairies,  to 
camp  9ut,  to  kill  things." 

She  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"  To  kill  things! "  she  repeated.  "  I  could 
go  with  you."  ' 

"  No.  Then  I  should  cease  to  love  you.  I 
could  not  see  you  roughing  it — in  serge  and 
thick  boots.  I  wouldn't  want  you  then.  You 
aren't  calico." 

"I'm  chiffon?" 

He  nodded. 

Mrs.  Osborne  was  finding  things  out.  The 
lion  was  killing  himself,  and  the  killing  was 
merciless.  He  took  her  hands — he  did  not  no- 
tice that  there  was  something  wanting  in  their 
touch.    As  to  the  glance  of  her  eyes — ^he  did 

184 


etc  €9Xttt  Of  jfLVfL  a>iamnt 

not  see  the  sword  in  them.  He  had  left  the 
wilderness  of  doubt,  had  reached  the  pleasant 
country  of  certainty,  had  forgotten  that  there 
were  enemies.  If  Mrs.  Osborne  had  looked 
at  him  before  with  worship,  she  did  not  do  so 
now. 
"Good-bye,"  she  said,  "good-bye!" 
When  he  had  left  her  she  rang  for  her  house- 
keeper. Perhaps  the  woman  had  been  prepared 
for  the  order  she  received,  for  she  showed  no 
surprise. 


185 


II 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  OSBORNES 

"Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  heavily,  "you 
never  told  me  that  your  Mrs.  Osborne  was  the 
Beauty,  or  that  Lady  Jane  Mandeville  is  her 
godmother.  Mrs.  Osborne  cannot  be  flighty 
if  Lady  Jane  has  anything  to  do  with  her." 

"Quite  right,"  said  Sarah,  with  approval. 
"  Lady  Jane  is  too  heavy  for  flight." 

Mrs.  Wilton  merely  sniffed.  Sarah  was  too 
frivolous  about  the  aristocracy — to  speak  in 
such  a  way  about  the  daughter  of  a  nobleman  I 

"  That,  Jane,"  she  said,  pointedly,  "  explains 
Mrs.  Osborne's  success  to  me.  Sarah  cannot  be 
expected  to  understand  the  undercurrents  of 
English  society.  When  a  woman  has  a  mem- 
ber of  the  aristocracy  for  her  godmother  she 
can  attain  anything." 

Jane  started.  She  looked  pale,  unlike  her- 
self, and  had  been  staring  round  her  mother- 

i86 


C^e  eamt  of  ftitik  tf)tf»nte 


in-law's  room  as  if  she  were  surprised  to  find 
herself  once  more  in  that  chaste  retreat.  She 
said  nothing,  and  Mrs.  Wilton  put  down  her 
knitting  and  gazed  at  her. 

"  I  really  think,  Jane,  you  should  have  told 
me.  I  should  have  called.  Politeness  demands 
something  from  us.  Mrs.  Osborne  has  been  so 
useful  to  you  and  Sarah." 

"  She  hasn't  been  useful  to  me,"  said  Sarah, 
sharply.  "I  never  could  bear  herl"  She 
glanced  hastily  at  her  sister,  behind  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton's back,  and  amended,  hastily,  "At  least, 
I  mean  I  never  could  bear  her  to  do  anything 
for  me." 

"  Don't  you  think  I  ought  to  call  on  her, 
Jane?"  demanded  Mrs.  Wilton. 

Jane  looked  taken  aback.  Her  voice  was  the 
voice  of  one  appalled  as  she  faltered  forth  an 
answer. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  very  nice  of  you,  but 
you  had  better  wait  a  few  days.  Mrs.  Os- 
borne is — has  gone  away." 

"  It  would  be  nice  for  you  to  meet  the  aris- 
tocracy," said  Sarah. 

"But  she  will  return,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton, 
187 


€4e  Career  of  fiivfk  lOitUome 


who  never  replied  to  Sarah  when  she  could  pos- 
sibly avoid  it.  "  You  said  you  were  going  to 
dine  there  on  Monday  next.  How  can  you 
dine  there  if  she  is  awav?  " 

"  We  were  asked  to  amuse  old  Mr.  Osborne 
while  his  daughter-in-law  was  away,"  returned 
Sarah  with  a  righteous  air. 

"  But  on  Tuesday  Sarah  said  she  was  taking 
you  both  to  the  play,"  put  in  Amelia,  disap- 
provingly. She  was  the  unfortunate  possesser 
of  worldly  yearnings  and  virtuous  pretensions. 

'*  I  said  old  Mr.  Osborne  was,"  firmly. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon  and  very  hot. 
Jane  and  Sarah  had  lunched  with  their  relatives 
on  hot  mutton  and  warm  custard  pudding. 
Mrs.  Wilton  always  gave  them  mutton;  she 
said  it  was  so  wholesome.  Jane  had  muttered 
something  about  leaving  early,  but  her  mother- 
in-law  had  returned  firmly  that  to  go  out  at 
half-past  two  on  a  hot  day  was  to  court  sun- 
stroke, and  that  a  nice  rest  in  a  quiet  house 
would  do  dear  Jane  good.  Dear  Jane  got  as 
near  the  window  as  she  could ;  the  room  reeked 
of  mutton  fat,  and  grew  hotter.  Small  won- 
der, perhaps,  that  Mrs.  George  Wilton  waxed 

1 88 


Clie  Career  of  iftrn  ^fOmnt 


paler  and  paier,  as  people  do  from  heat  and  also 
from  hopeless  straining  after  something  that 
will  not  come. 

At  last— blessed  signal  of  release— tea  was 
brought  in.  Sarah  sat  up  and  grinned  openly; 
even  Jane  looked  as  if  the  worst  were  past;  but 
not  for  long.  As  Mrs.  Wilton  poured  out  the 
tea  she  also  poured  lorth  on  the  subject  of  Mrs. 
Osborne. 

"  It  is  of  no  use,  Tane,  your  trying  to  put 
me  off  calling  on  her."  She  spoke  suspiciously. 
"  It  will  seem  strange  to  her  that  you  have  no 
relations  by  marriage,  if  you  have  not  men- 
tioned us;  if  you  have,  she  will  doubtless  won- 
der we  have  not  recognized  her.  Now  don't 
say  any  more  to  prevent  me.  I  shall  call  upon 
her  on  Monday  afternoon.  If  she  is  away 
still—"  the  sniff  was  openly  incredulous — "  I 
suppose  she  will  get  our  cards  when  she  comes 
home.     Mr.  Hopkins  also  wishes  to  go." 

"  Mr.  Hopkins  I  "  Jane  and  Sarah  spoke  to- 
gether. 

"  Yes;  what  is  so  extraordinary  in  that?  I 
have  seen  you  so  little  lately  that  I  suppose 
you  do  not  know  he  has  called  twice.    He  has 

189 


il 


! 


eiie  Career  oC  fMk  ^lOnmt 

been  most  polite,  and  lo  interested  in  Mrs.  Os- 
borne that  I  have  promised  to  ask  her  to  tea 
as  a  sort  of  recognition — asking  you  and  him 
also.  Mr.  Hopkins  has  seen  your  cousin,  in 
the  distance,  and  thinks  her  like  you,  Jane,  but 
much  handsomer!  We  all  know  you  do  not 
pretend  to  be  a  beauty." 

Sarah's  lips  quivered  violently.  She  put  up 
her  hand  and  covered  her  mouth. 

"Sarah,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilton,  "how 
funny  yoy  are  looking !  Just  as  if  you  were  go- 
ing to  be  sf'asick." 

Sarah  emitted  a  strange  sound  between  a 
cough  and  a  growl. 

"  I  do  feel  rather  ill.  I  think  I  had  better 
go  home,  Jane." 

"  The  air  will  do  you  good,"  said  her  sister, 
promptly. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  observed  Mrs.  Wilton. 
"  Well,  Jane,  I  shall  call  on  Mrs.  Osborne  on 
Monday." 

"  Do  you  wish  m^  to  go,  too?  "  There  \. as 
a  queer  change  on  Mrs.  George  Wilton's  face 
since  that  mention  of  Mr.  Hopkins.  "  Or  will 
Mr.  Hopkins  escort  you?  " 

190 


t 


^^eeamp  or  futn.  tWmnt 


"I  .hall  go  alone.  Mr.  Hopkins  meant,  I 
think,  to  go  to-day.  He  was  to  be  introduced 
by  Mr.  Van  Ingen." 

"Mr.  Van  Ingen  is  in  Paris."  Jane  drawled, 
indifferently. 

"  H*»  returned  thi:  morning,"  briskly.     "  If 
you  knew  him,  Jane,  you  would  know  that  " 
"  Oh  I "  said  Jane. 

Mrs.  Wilton  swelled  with  the  triumph  of 
knowledge. 

"  Yes,  he  has  returned.  And  I  owe  it  to 
you.  Jane,  as  your  only  relative  of  any  position 

AV  ^^  "°' '°""*  Americans-to  give  a  little 
fete  to  Mrs.  Osborne  and  any  friends  of  hers 
you  may  have  met.  Beside^,  she  has  been  so 
useful  to  you  that  she  might-who  knows?- 
be  useful  to  Amelia.  I  wonder  you  did  not 
suggest  Amelia  to  her!  She  might  at  least 
send  her  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Howard  K.  Os- 
borne,  to  call." 

"  Did  Mr.  Hopkins  tell  you  about  him,  too  ?  " 
said  Jane,  grimly. 

th«!^°'  l'^^'  °^  '''"''  ""^  ''  '"^^  to  me 
that  Mr.  Hopkins  said " 

"He  merely  said,  'Oh!'"  pat  in  Amelia. 
191 


■«;■ 


r  r 


/!  f 


Clie  Cftmr  of  iKnL  tf>tf»nie 

"  I  knew  at  once  he  did  tiot  think  much  o( 
Mr.  Howard  K.  Osborne.  He  changed  the 
subject." 

"Of  course,  my  dear  Amelia — "  Mrs. Wilton 
beamed — "  he  would  have  his  prejudices.  Be- 
sides, if  I  remember,  I  thought  your  interest 
in  Mr.  Howard  K.  Osborne  a  little — a  little 
marked.  Mr.  Hopkins  would  naturally  resent 
it." 

"Very  naturally,"  commented  Jane.  She 
wished  viciously  that  Amelia  would  marry 
Hopkins ;  he  might  yet  be  saved  as  by  fire.  She 
stood  a  minute  by  the  tea  table,  and  it  was 
well  that  her  relations-in-law  had  never  seen 
her  in  a  rage. 

"  Come,  Sarah,"  she  said,  "  we  must  go  now. 
Amelia,  may  I  see  the  Standard  for  a  minute? 
Oh,  you  take  the  Morning  Post.  That  will  do 
as  well.    Thank  you." 

She  glanced  at  it,  and  put  it  down.  "  Good- 
bye. We'll  see  you  on  Tuesday,"  she  called 
back  over  her  shoulder,  gayly,  as  she  left  the 
room.  "  Then  you  can  tell  us  what  you  think 
of  Mrs.  Osborne." 

Once  they  were  outside  she  drew  a  long 
breath. 

192 


li   ! 


t»e  Ctmt  of  0Lvik  €>a»tnt 


"  What  -re  you  going  to  do?  "  said  Sarah, 
in  an  awe-struck  whisper.  ••  You  will  have  to 
do  something.  Oh,  let  me  get  home !  Iculd 
not  stand  the  strain  when  your  mother-in-law 
harped  on  Mrs.  Osborne.  Come  and  find  an 
omnibus.  Oh,  I  could  kill  Mr.  Hopkins !  He's 
a  sneak,  and  we  told  him  about  old  Mr  Os- 
borne!" 

"Omnibus?"    scathingly.      Jane    took    no 
thi  ught  for  the  sinning  Hopkins.    "  Hansom. 
Can't  you  see  we  must  be  quick  ?    I  hate  houses 
where  they  don't  have  tea  till  five."    She  set- 
tled her  thick  white-lace  veil  over  her  mouth; 
it  was  as  impervious  as  a  mask,  and  nearly  as 
stifling.    "Hurry!"    She  waved  her  parasol 
with  command  to  the  nearest   hansom   and 
pushed  her  sister  in.     "Morning  Post  office 
Wellington  street,"  she  adjured  the  cabman.' 
"  Drive  fast,"  and  she  sank,  down  beside  Sarah. 
"  I  hope,"  she  added,  grimly,  "  that  he'll  drive 
like  the  devil!" 

"  Jane!  "  shrieked  the  scandalized  Sarah. 
"  Half-past  five."  returned  Jane,  irrelevantly. 
"  We'll  just  do  it." 


13 


193 


«ie  Carter  of  fiit$.  €>0mi 


If' 


"  Do  what  ?  Why  are  you  going  to  a  newt- 
paper  office?" 

"  Don't  you  ice  they  are  determined  to  go 
«nd  call  on  Mrs.  Osborne  ? "  fiercely.  "  I  don't 
mind  th,-*',  because  she  could  be  away.  But  I 
v/on't  h.«ve  that  sneaking  little  Hopkins  find  m* 
out!  And  I  know  he  will,  if  I  don't  choke 
him  off  by  Monday.  And  we  were  so  nice  to 
him,  too  I " 

"  We  ate  his  dinners! "  said  Sarah,  with  In- 
jury at  his  ingratitude.  "  And  he  always  had 
joint." 

"  If  I'm  found  out  I'm  ruined.  And  I  won't 
be  ruined  now,  with  nothing  to  show  for  it. 
I  can  only  think  of  one  thing  that  will  save 
me.  I  got  all  ready  for  it  when  Mrs.  Os- 
borne gave  I",  her  house  and  went  away.  I 
thought  of  it  when  I  paid  the  butler.  Mrs.  Os- 
borne mui.  die!"    Jane's  voice  was  hollow. 

"  Where  ?  how  ?  "  demanded  Sarah.  "  She 
can't.    She's  too  much  of  a  celebrity." 

"  TJjat  won't  keep  her  alive.  I  shall  write 
the  notice  in  the  Morning  Post  office,  and  if 
we  are  there  before  six  it  will  be  in  on  Monday 
morning."    She  dragged  out  her  watch.    "Oh, 

»94 


fl( 


•»  etmt  af  jut*  CiHBBtr 


1  forgot  it  wai  How.    If.  ,„  minute,  to  lix 
")*•    Tell  him  to  drive  f..ter,  do  I  " 

"But  w.  cnt  kill  her."  S.r.h  wa.  .Imot, 
^r,ul.  ■;Sh.-dbe«.„gryir.h.,oundr 
Jutt  go  away  ?   We  can't  kill  her." 

"  I""  not  going  to  .Uy  in  bed,  thaf.  why 
"»•  '•^'•'  •"«  have  anything  infection,  ii 
I^^-J-dnt?    And  the..'.  nH.re.    Van  ingen..' 

•'  But  what  will  you  do  without  her?  " 

"  I'm  done  with  her." 

"  But  Mr.  Howard  K.  Osborne  will  have  to 
jro  into  mourning.  He  can't  take  me  to 
thmgs." 

'•  If.  old  Mr.  Cborne  who",  going  to  be  in 
■nourning-  gr,m|y.  ..s,„h,  thi.  man  i. 
crawlmg." 

"Where?"  Sarah  was  always  prepared  for 
-nyihmg  "  Not  on  top  of  the  hansom  ?  He'll 
be  killed  if  he  does  that." 

^  "No,  idiot,  no!"  lookiug  forth  distractedly. 
Uh,  now  we  are  blocked  I  " 

.nTlZ  """'"  T  '^'  '°'"'^  "^  ^'^'^'  Circus, 
•nd  a  stream  of  omnibuses  directed  by  a  policc- 

'9$ 


ne  €mn  of  iKt<>  €)rtornt 

nian   wat   surging   pait   their   horte'g   not. 
Would  they  never  get  on  ? 

"We  »hall  be  late.  I  know  we  ihallf 
mooned  the  miterable  Jane,  who  knew  that  the 
mii<lee(*fi  of  a  Beauty— and  a  daughter-in-law 
—  live  forever.  "  There  if  go  little  time,  and 
nothing  can  lave  me  but  the  Morning  Post. 
^'othing  elM  can  make  Miles  Van  Ingen  wish 
hf  were  dead,"  viciously,  "  but  to  lose  his  Mr^. 
Osborne  unstained  and  untarnished.  Go 
round!"  she  shouted  through  the  little  door  in 
the  roof.  "Don't  wait  to  get  through  the 
block." 

It  wanted  four  minutes  to  six  when  they 
aliphted  at  the  ofnce  of  the  Morning  Post  and 
tore  up  the  stairs. 

'•  After  this,"  panted  Jane.  "  I  will  never  tell 
another  lie.  But  I  will  not  be  found  out — by 
a  Mrs.  Wiltor,  a  Hopkins  and  a  Van  Ingen  I  " 
Could  the  Background  only  have  heard  him- 
.clf  being  lumped  in  with  a  husband's  friends 
and  relations! 

The  notice  was  written  and  paid  for.  The 
murderers  went  down  to  th?  Strand  and  got 
into  an  omnibus,  and  Jane  Wilton  wi«  almost 

196 


^^^tttt  or  iKm  €>»mi 


M  pile  as  If  ihe,  initcad  of  Mrt.  Oibome,  wen 
death-atricken. 
That  evening  Kfri.  Wilton  tnt  reflecting. 
"  It  it  my  opinion,"  ihe  aaid.  "  that  Jane  and 
Sarah  do  not  wi»h  ui  to  know  Mr*.  Cborne. 
They  are  afraid  of  her  taking:  "«  up.  e«t)eclally 
you.  Amelia.     Either  they  are  jealous  or  elie 
Mrs  Oalwrne  i»  flighty.    Ye*,  now  I  come  to 
think  of  It.  I  have  no  doubt  Mrs.  Osborne  is 
flighty,  if  not  mad.    I  heard  %ht  kept  the  Prince 
H'a.ting  to  dance  with  her  till  he  was  so  angry 
he  shoot  the  dust  off  his  feet  and  went  hotne  " 
-vS'»t  dust  was  immaterial.     ••  I  must  frnd 
out.     I  shall  call  there  early  on  Monday     If 
only  to-morrow  were  not  Sunday!    I  suppose 
It  would  not  do  to  make  a  first  call  on  Sunday, 
would  it,  Amelia?" 
'*  No,  certainly  net,  mamma." 
Amelia  could  not  be  defied.    But  the  hours 
of  the  Sabbath  were  bng  to  Mrs.  Wilton,  and 
Monday  morning  was  welcome. 

She  was  still  at   her  toilet   when   Ameli:. 
rushed  u.to  her  room  bearing  a  newspaper. 
"Listenl  listen!"  she  shrieked. 


19/ 


Zt)t  career  of  futfL  tDsOxmt 


Suddenly,  of  heart  failure,  at  Basley,  Jane 
Osborne,  nie  Egerton,  widow  of  R.  Osborne, 
Esq..  of  Virginia.  No  flowers.  The  remaini 
will  be  taken  to  America  for  interment." 

"How  annoying!  how  disappointing;  how 
dreadful  I"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilton.     "And  I 
can't  send  any  flowers,  which  would  have  been 
a  nice  little  surprising  kindness  to  old  Mr.  Os- 
borne.   I  could  have  sent  quite  a  nice  wreath 
for  five  shillings,  or  perhaps  four  and  nine. 
And  now  old  Mr.  Osborne  will  be  too  depressed 
for  a  time  to  do  anything  for  you,  even  if  he 
does  not  accompany  the  body  to  America.    And 
young  Mr.  Osborne  will  not  be  able  to  call,  so 
it  is  of  no  use  to  trouble  about  sending  your 
father  to  leave  cards  in  Eaton  Place.     But—" 
she    hesitated-"  Amelia,    Providence   is   all- 
powerful  and  so  wise.    Perhaps  it  is  for  the 
best.     Mr.  Hopkins  seemed  unduly  interested 
m  Mrs.  Osborne."    She  gazed  thoughtfully  at 
the  Morning  Post.     "  Basley.     I  don't  know 
where  that  is.    It  seems  extraordinary  to  die 
there  when  she  could  have  had  her  funeral 
from  Eaton  Place.     She  must,  Amelia,  she 
must  have  been  flighty." 

198 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  BACKGROUND  SCORES 

"Not  at  home?"  said  Mr.  Hopkins,  blank- 
ly. 'Notat/iom^/  Oh,  I  suppose  on  account 
of  mourning." 

"  That,  sir,"  returned  Adams,  calmly,  "  and 
of  gomg  to  America.  My  mistress  starts  this 
evening.  I  was  to  say  it  was  most  unlikely 
she  could  see  you  before  she  went." 

"America!"  said  Mr.  Hopkins,  but  it  was 
to  the  shut  door.  Was  it  a  delusion,  or  did  he 
hear  the  voice  of  O'Hara  from  the  paradise 
that  was  denied  to  him?  As  he  fumed  down 
the  steps  he  decided  it  was  a  delusion.  As  he 
gamed  the  street  a  man  jumped  out  of  a  han- 
som, and  Mr.  Hopkins,  too.  jumped. 

"  Wilton !  "  he  gasped.  "  Why-where~" 
feebly-"  I'm  delighted  to  see  you.  But  you're 
just  m  time.  Your  wife's  going  to  America 
this  afternoon." 

199 


^  J 


^.^in>r|  y.v,. 


,«Vv- 


.■ilW-lf«.  i- 


ft^JiifcBiXivV*^  ;.-<  £•.- 


■«■  »..i  «..!->«,  •.!».»..  ^ 


Cl^e  €axttt  of  fM*  fDOmnt 

— ^— —  ' 

"  So  am  I,"  said  George  Wilton,  calmly. 
*'  Good-day."    And  he  flew  up  the  stairs. 

As  his  voice  was  heard  at  the  door  Miss 
Sarah  Egerton  seized  Mr.  O'Hara  by  the  arm. 

"  Kitchen,"  she  said,  firmly.  "  Quick!  Oh, 
thank  heaven  I  telegraphed  I  " 

Jane  Wilton  stood  among  her  half-packed 
trunks  and  swayed. 

"George!"  she  said.  "George!"  She 
looked  at  him^  as  if  she  had  never  seen  him  be- 
fore. And  had  she  ever  seen  him  before  ?  Was 
he  always  bronzed,  clean-cut,  hawk-eyed— or 
had  she  been  deliberately  blind?  And  his 
clothes,  his  immaculate  coat  and  boots,  his  dis- 
tinguished air  as  he  paused  for  one  second  in 
the  doorway.  This  was  the  man  she  had 
called  middle-class  and  lumped  in  with  his  re- 
lations. This!  He  had  never  seemed  so  de- 
sirable, so  utterly 

He  turned,  deliberately  closed  the  door  be- 
hind Adams,  and  smiled. 

Mrs.  George  W  ilton  backed  sharply  till  the 
wall  stopped  her.  He  would  never  kiss  her 
again — when  she  told  him.  It  was  better  to 
refuse  kisses  than  to  have  them  denied  you. 

200 


.>•-,- ,— --.i— '.  *,--;«  ;>it'-;.J<  ,- . 


.i».'^  v.*fl  ■^i^'«>.-»4  *''• 


ZJ^t  Career  of  fnviL  tiDisbome 


"  You've  never  even  said  you  were  glad  to 
see  me,"  remarked  Captain  Wilton,  politely. 
"Aren't  you?" 

How  tall  he  was,  and  he  wore  that  pin  she 
gave  him;  and  he  wasn't  a  bit  like  the  Wiltons, 
not  like  any  one  of  them.  And— she  had  been 
a  fool  all  her  days  and  now  she  must  pay  for  it. 
But  glad !  It  was  all  she  could  do  not  to  run  to 
him  and  hide  her  head  on  his  breast.  But  she 
stood  sti" 

"  Don  .  come  near  me,"  she  muttered.  For 
a  second  his  face  was  blank.  "  I've— I've  been 
doing  dreadful  things  I  I've  been  telling  lies, 
and  being  a  Beauty,  and " 

"  You  were  always  a  Beauty,"  consideringly. 
"And— I've  known  you  to  tell  lies.  Is  that 
why  I'm  not  to  come  near  you  ?  " 

"  I've  been  pretending  to  be  Mrs.  Osborne 
—Jane  Osborne— you  know,"  sullenly.  "  You 
don't  know  all  I've  done.  You  wouldn't  be 
here  if  you  did." 

"  It's  just  what  I  would  be,"  composedly. 
"  Fve  always  wanted  to  see  a  murderer.  Come 
here,  Mrs.  Osborne,  and  let  me  look  at  you." 

"You  know!    Who  told  you?" 

201 


ill 

1i 


?*.**^'v?!'*"-'*"'*'****^*-****'^'A»,i^'»-*»^>V%-?** 


.  I  i 


I    1 


■ii 


i 


Ci^e  Cateet  of  fML  a>iamnt 

"  Well,"  calmly,  "  it  was  Sarah.  She  kept 
writing  and  telegraphing  till  I  thought  I'd 
come  home.  I  came  overland  from  Marseilles, 
and  she  thoughtfully  kept  me  amused  all  the 
way  by  telegrams.  She  sent  a  frantic  one  to 
the  Metropole  this  morning.  I  think  it  was 
about  America."  He  moved  toward  her,  but 
he  did  not  look  at  her.  "  I  think,"  aflfably— 
and  this  did  him  credit,  for  he  was  afraid  of 
something  ih  her  face — "  I  know  all  your 
crimes." 

"  You  don't,"  she  muttered.  "  You  don't. 
I  got  frantic  at  The  Cedars ;  I  got  tired  of  you ; 
I — I  went  up  to  town  and  was  Mrs.  Osborne 
because  Miles  Van  Ingen  was  in  London,  and 
I  wanted  to  see  him  and  make  him  think  I  was 
grand." 

"  I  hope  he  did." 

"  George,  don't  laugh.  Be  angry.  But  you 
will  be  in  a  minute.  I — I  thought  I  always 
loved  him ;  I  never  could  forget  him,  he  was  al- 
ways a  shadowy  third  between  you  and  me " 

"  And  did  you  find  him  a  substantial  one?  " 
quietly. 

Jane  straightened  herself  desperately. 

202 


(I 


Mil  >inm*Ji«-.  ^•«M»**-~»«-*»«'^ 


t-»-<M»»*-*  *'»»'«»  *»^-*-<.»i».i»,  .♦«»*»— ^-^in  ■»««■«-*«; 


Cie  career  of  iftrn  lOfOmnt 


"  I  forgot  all  about  you  for  two  months," 
•he  said,  dully— it  is  not  pleasant  to  own  you 
have  found  cheese-cake  gingerbread.  "I 
adored  him— I  used  to  kiss  him— I » 

"  I  always  thought  you  could  be  dangerous," 
calmly.     "  Is  that  all  ?  " 

But  she  went  on  as  if  she  had  not  heard 
him. 

"I  thought  I'd  get  a  divorce  and  marry 
him." 

"I  won't  make  any  defense,"  jaid  the 
wronged  one,  blandly. 

Jane  leaped  toward  him  like  a  leopard.  Her 
eyes  were  blazing,  her  pale  azalea  cheeks  scar- 
let. 

"  Don't  talk  like  that ;  you  sha'n't  dare !  I'm 
not  like  that.  I  kept  finding  out  little  things 
and  seeing  clearer  and  clearer,  and— George, 
he  didn't  love  me  at  all;  it  was  Mrs.  Osborne! 
And  I  couldn't  bear  it,"  incoherently.  "  I'm 
just  as  good-looking  and  just  as  nice  as  Mrs. 
Osborne;  and  I  hated  him— and  so  I  killed  her 
to  get  her  out  of  his  way  and  make  him  misera- 
ble because  she  was  dead." 

"You    dear    little    devil  I"    said    Captain 
203 


£>--f--flM»--**Ji^ 


•'■*»H«  ,.•.*. 


V 


i-. 


r 


C^e  Carcet  oC  fiM,  iMbome 


George  Wilton,  son  of  Colonel  und  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton of  The  Cedars. 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  humbly,  half  an 
hour  afterward,  "  some  one  might  come  in— 
and  you're  sitting  on  Mrs.  Osborne's  clothes. 
And  I  want  to  know  what  we  are  going  to 
do     I  don't  suppose  I  can  stay  in  London." 
♦'  It  mightn't  be  exactly  wise,"  cheerfully. 
"  Suppose  we  go  to  New  York.     You  know 
you  really  ought  to  square  it  with  Jane  Os- 
borne.    She  may  hang  you,  of  course,  for  kill- 
ing her,  but " 

"  I've  squared  her.  She  knew  all  along,  ex- 
cept of  couri^  tnat  she  had  to  die.  I  never 
did  anything  to  get  her  into  trouble,  really; 
that  was  the  reason  I  kept  away  from  the 
American  Minister's  and  wouldn't  be  pre- 
sented." 
"  Good  heavens! "  faintly.  "  I— I  mean  you 

were  extremely  prudent." 

"  And  Mr.  Van  Ingen,"  she  stammered  over 
the  name  she  had  been  wont  to  swear  by, 
"  ne .er  saw  her." 

"  He'll  be  pleased  when  he  does!"  Neither 
knew  which  laughed  first. 

204 


Cl^e  Caveer  of  fML  iDittmnt 


**  George,  she's  a  dear,  and  old  Osborne  did 
feave  me  a  million.    But  oh,  her  figure!  " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  her  nose,"  meekly.  "  Oh, 
Jane!" 

"  And  I've  spent  an  awful  lot  of  money,  be- 
ing her.    And  George " 

"What?" 

"  Winnie  Wellwood  lives  below  us." 

"  The  devil  she  does!  Good  Lord,  we'll  go  to 
New  York  at  once.  For  goodness'  sake,  Jane, 
let  me  get  at  the  packing." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Sarah,  leaning  against  the 
kitchen  sink, "  we  can  go  back  now.  The  front 
door's  wide  open,  and  Adams  can't  adorn  the 
landing  forever." 

"Two  minutes  more  won't  hurt  her." 
O'Hara  leaned  against  the  gas  stove;  it  was 
well  that  the  thoughtful  Adams  had  put  it  out. 
"  You've  never  answered  me." 

"  I  can't."  It  was  a  desperate  Sarah,  with 
a  hard-set  mouth.  "  I'd  have  to  tell  you  things, 
and  they'd  be  dishonorable  if  I  told.  And  if 
you  knew  them,  you  wouldn't " 

Mr.  O'Hara  lounged  a  little  on  his  well- 
blacked  support. 

205 


if 


■  <l 


^1 


Cte  Career  of  iKnk  tf>iaante 

"If  you  mean  about  Mri.  Osborne,"  he  said 
languidly,  "I've  Icnown  all  along;  ever  since 
the  Astons'  dance.  I  had  to  go— couldn't  get 
out  of  it;  and  I  saw  her.  I  suppose  she  died 
to  get  the  change  out  of  Van  Ingen.  He  wasn't 
fit,  you  know,  to  black  her  shoes.  I  always 
knew  she'd  find  it  out.  I'm  very  fond  of 
Jane,"  sweetly. 

But  Sarah  was  speechless. 

"I  rather  helped,  too."  O'Hara  had  left 
the  stove.  "  Dearest  Sarah,  you  don't  know 
what  a  struggle  it  was  not  to  stay  behind,  the 
day  Van  Ingen  came  sniffing  round  here,  and 
punch  his  head.  And  then  there  was  Urm- 
ston."  Sarah's  teeth  really  chattered.  "  After 
that  night,  you  know,  I  met  him.  And  he  was 
rather  nasty— or  he  tried  to  be!  I  shut  him 
up,  and — he  called  me  Captain  Wilton." 

"What— did— you— do?"  She  was  white 
with  shame.  * 

"Oh,  I'd  never  shatter  a  healthy  illusion," 
calmly.  "  I'd  have  played  up  to  being  the  Czar 
if  it  would  have  helped  you.  I  knew  what 
you'd  been  doing,  if  no  one  else  did.  I  thought 
I'd  help  you  save  the  show,"  simply. 

2GO 


!^        . 


C^e  Career  of  fiitn.  fDfimnt 


^^  "  Billy,  I  love  you."  said  Sarah.  lolwinly. 
"And  I'll  tell  you  now.    Aunt  Adela  Egerton 
brought  us  up  on  thin  bread  and  thinner  but- 
ter,  but  she  fed  us.  and  she  sent  me  to  school. 
She  kept  Jane  at  home  to  write  notes  and  mend 
lace  and  feed  the  prize  poultry,  and  that  was 
how  Jane  knew  Mr.  Van  Ingen  and  I  didn't. 
And  Aunt  Adela's  daughter  was  named  Jane, 
too.    She  had  only  one;  she  was  nice  and  fat. 
and  hated  her  mother,  and  ne -er  stayed  with 
her.    She  made  a  grand   marriage,   and   the 
man's  name  was  Osborne.     He  had  heaps  of 
money,  and  when  he  dird  he  left  us  a  lot     I 
always  thought  his  wife  made  him;  she  liked 
Jane.     But  what  put  it  into  Jane's  head  to 
be  her  was  Newport.     Aunt  Adela  took  us 
there,  just  after  her  own  Jane's  engagement 
was  announced;  and  for  two  days  people  fell 
over  each  other  being  civil  to  the  wrong  Jane. 
And  then  Aunt  Adela  aired  herself,  and  the 
bubble  burst.    But  Jane  had  found  out  the  dif- 
ference, and  I  suppose  she  thought  she'd  like 
to  be  some  one  again.    She— she  wanted  to  en- 
joy herself,"  fiercely;  "  she  never  had  had  much 
of  a   life,   her  money  came  too  late.    Mrs. 

207 


J 


i 

i! 


tJ9t  €mn  of  0u$,  Mbam 


George  Wilton,  in  Eaton  Place,  with  row*  of 
VViltona  glaring  at  everything  ihc  did— well, 
you  can  see  for  yourself  that  Dick  Osborne's 
widow,  with  Dick  Osborne's  fortune,  wouldn't 
be  quite  as  pale  a  joy!  But  I  never  liked 
him^"  incoherently—"!  knew  she  wouldn't 
either,  if  she  had  her  head.  There  were  little 
things,  I  can't  tell  you— but  he  loved  Mrs.  Os- 
borne, not  Jane." 

"What I"  O'Hara  let  her  go  suddenly, 
"what  on  earth  is  that?" 

"  It's  a  woman  I "  gasped  his  beloved.  "  Oh, 
move!  It's  the  Wiltons— they  can't  come  in— 
George  and  Jane  may  be  fighting!  Besides, 
they  don't  know  he's  come  home." 

She  flew  to  the  door,  with  O'Hara,  big  and 
burly,  behind  her,  and  stood  appalled.  In  the 
front  doorway  stood  Mr.  Van  Ingen;  behind 
him,  the  worse  for  wear  and  striving  madly  to 
pass  him,  Miss  Wellwood. 

"  Is  it  true?  "  said  Van  Ingen.  "  What  does 
this  woman  mean,  if  it  is?  " 

"True,  that  she's  dead?"  shrieked  Miss 
Wellwood,  contemptuously.  She  dived  under 
his  arm  and  pointed  to  the  open  door  of  the 

208 


C^  Career  of  futn,  Ogliome 


I 


drawing-room.    "  Let  me  go  in  and  look. 
Mw  her,  I  tell  you.  last  night." 

"Go  away,  you  nasty  wretch!"  gas|)ecl  the 
sturdy  Adams.    "  How  dare  you  come  here?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  Mm.  Wilton.  I  know  she's 
here— and  Thompson,"  wildly,  "  won't  si^ak 
to  me  because  he  says  I  told  him  lies  about  her. 
Let  me  in." 

"  Did  anyone  ask  for  me?  "  said  a  blind  and 
manly  voice  from  the  drawing-room  door. 
"Or  was  it  my  wife?" 

Miss  VVellwood's  arm  dropped  paralyzed; 
the  released  Adams  reeled  against  OHara's 
legs,  and  incidentally  bumped  Sarah  violently. 

"  Vou!"  said  Miss  VVellwood.  She  forgot 
all  she  had  come  to  say,  all  that  had  made  her 
waylpy  Mr.  Van  Ingen  when  kind  chance 
showed  him  passing  her  window.  "  Oh,  my  I  " 
And  with  a  swift  gesture  she  caught  up  her 
purple  plush  tea-gown,  turned  cowering  from 
Captain  George  Wilton,  and  fled  downstairs. 

"  It  ain't  she,"  she  said,  breathlessly,  to  a 

man  who  stood  below,  who  had  once  signed 

himself  "  A  Friend  "  to  Jsne  Wilton  for  sheer 

joy  in  her  lovely  face.    "  It's  just  Mrs.  .Wil- 

14  209 


£^:M»f;aa^sy:?:r-»cr.--*i.- : 


C^  Ctmr  of  iRfi.  Mbome 


H 


t 


ton,  and  if  I'd  known  the  wii  hit  wife  I'd 
never  have  looked  crooked  tt  her.  He 
wouldn't  let  her  play  no  Mri.  0»bornei/* 

Mr.  Thompson  ceaicd  to  regret  he  had  let 
het  paw  him  to  go  up.  He  auisted  her  lome- 
what  grimly  to  her  door.  Hii  profettion  led 
him  to  the  haunts  of  the  rich  and  great,  of  late 
to  the  control  of  Mr.  Van  Ingen'i  sublet.  He 
stood  a  m<Mnent  in  the  sunshine  and  took  off  his 
hat. 

•  ril  never  see  another  like  her,"  said  he, 
...lemnly,  "  nor  a  better  finish.  She  died  game, 
she  did,"  and  he  retired  from  the  scene.  \J\y- 
stairs  George  Wilton  stood  staring  before  him, 
as  if  he  saw  no  one  in  the  well-filled  hall  as 
he  reflected  aloud. 

"  Now,  who  would  have  thought  she  would 
have  remembered  Charlotte  street — and  me! 
Have  you  any  more  friends,  Jane,  for  me  to 
polish  off?"  He  was  looking  through  and 
through  Mr.  Van  Ingen. 

"  No."  She  had  come  forward  and  was 
standing  at  his  side.  "  No,  I  can  attend  to  the 
rest  for  myself."  Her  hand  touched  his  sleeve 
as  she  passed  him  with  a  little  imperious  ges- 

310 


€^  Cimt  or  iKvi.  tf)ttaiiie 


turt,  and  hit  face  fluihej  warmly.  Never  until 
to-day  had  he  felt  jutt  that  touch  in  hit  wife's 
hand. 

Van  Ingcn  xtood  dumb,  black  with  turpriM 
and  rage.  For  when  Miss  VVellwood  caught 
him  on  her  dcwrttep  he  had  come  to  condole 
with  and  ask  questions  of  the  bereft  and  un- 
godly  Sarah. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Jane,  slowly. 
**  I'm  afraid  we  can't  ask  you  in.  I  am  pack- 
ing— to  take  the  <lccea»«d  to  America.  You 
know,  of  course,  that  Mrs.  Osborne  is  dead." 

He  bowe<l.  Nothing  else  occurred  to  him. 
He  had  been  victimized,  made  fun  of,  and 
must,  to  save  himself  from  ridicule,  play  out  the 
lonely  mourner,  leaving  London  in  the  middle 
of  the  season. 

"  And  I  don't  think  you  have  ever  met  my 
husband,  Captain  Wilton." 

Mr.  Van  Ingen,  who  would  be  the  Back- 
ground no  longer,  looked  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  scored. 

"  I  have  to  congratulate  you  both  on  the  con- 
venient career  of  Mrs.  Osborne,"  he  said,  and 
turned  away. 

311 


/': 


ii 


Zl^t  Careev  of  fRXfL  €)isi»nie 


It  was  not  a  pleasant  reply  to  make,  but 
George  Wilton  made  it,  while  Jane  stood 
speechless. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  said,  "  you  may  con- 
gratulate us  on  its  happy  conclusion." 

The  mystified  Adams  stared  from  one  to  an- 
other. There  was  something  in  the  everyday 
scene  that  was  not  everyday.  But  the  Hon- 
orable William  Desmond  Craven  O'Hara 
clutched  his  Sarah's  hand  with  cheerful  aban- 
don as  the  door  closed  forever  on  the  Back- 
ground. 

'•  Served  him  right !  "  said  he,  calmly.  "  All 
the  time  he  was  making  up  to  Jane  he  was  liv- 
ing with—with  somebody  else.  And  he'll  hear 
it  in  that  quarter  if  he  doesn't  hold  his  tongue 
about  '  careers.' " 

"  I  knew,"  said  Sarah,  simply.  "  I'd  have 
told — if  I'd  needed  to." 

And  neither  man  knew  if  Jane  kissed  her,  or 
she  Jane.  Adams  had  discreetly  gone  to  cook 
the  luncheon. 


FINIS. 


The 
Middle  Course 

A    CONTEMPORARY   R(»\;ANCE 
BY 

Mrs.  Poultney  Bigelow 

A  PowxRVUL  Story  op  Socibty,  Cleverly  Told 

The  story  concerns  itself  with  a  beauti- 
ful London  society  woman,  whose  husband 
is  unsympathetic  and  even  brutal,  and 
who  becomes  sensationally  involved,  al- 
though innocent,  with  a  much  lionized 
sculptor,  through  a  jealous  woman's  mali- 
cious gossip. 

Illustrated  by  C.  B.  Currier 
Crown  Svo,  $1.50 


THE  SMART  SET  PUBLISHING  CO. 

452  Fif  til  Avenue,  New  York 


Ss  Sobn  S).  Sarry 

AUTHOR  OP  ••*   DAUOHTKN  Of  THUFIO" 


THE 
CONGRESSMAN'S  WIFE 

A  Story  of  American  PoiitUm 


1  HE  main  motif  is  political,  a  new  motif, 
by  the  way,  that  is  beginning  to  supersede 
the  historical,  for  which  let  us  give  thanks. 
The  scenes  are  laid  first  in  Washington  and 
then  in  New  York,  Congressman  Briggs 
representing  a  metropolitan  district;  he 
gets  into  the  toils  of  a  lobbyist,  Franklin 
West,  and  getting  out  of  the  toils  costs  him 
his  re-election.  Mr.  Barry's  knowledge  of 
the  "inside"  of  Washington  life  is  most 
accurate. 

N.  Y.  rn****.—"  An  excellent  piece  of  fiction." 

N.  Y.  Mail  and  Exprns.—"  IAt.  Bairy  .  .  .  hw  all  the 
material  required  for  a  strong  play  of  preeent-oay  American 
life  and  manners." 

Bujfah  CownVr.— "It  Is  a  fascinating  story  of  political  and 
social  life  1.1  New  York  and  Washington." 

Albany  Argus.— '^Qnt  of  the  strongest  and  most  subtle 
studies  of  political  and  social  Washington  that  has  ever  been 

••rattan  n 


written." 


Cbowv  8yo,  f  l.SO 


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48a   Fin-H   AVCNUC 


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AUTHOR  or  ••TAMALVN'O  OHOOT,"    KTO. 


THE  SHUTTERS  OF  SILENCE 

Xh9  JbMwanoo  o/  a  Trappitt 


X  HIS  book  contains  a  description,  at  once 
sane  and  vivid,  sympathetic  and  critical,  of 
an  institution  the  very  name  of  which  exer- 
cises a  mysterious  fascination  on  people  of 
all  the  shades  of  thought — the  Trappist  Mon- 
astery of  Mahota.  .  .  .  This  is,  in  many 
respects,  a  capital  novel.  .  .  .  Here  is  an 
interesting,  amiable,  amusing  book,  never 
absurd  and  never  dull,  :-  --  y  ways  orig- 
inal, and  full  of  good  men  ai  cheer. 

CBomr  8to,  91.50 


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4ta    riPTH    AVENUE 


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i' 


Miss  Sylvester's 
Marriage 


BY  CECIL  CHARLES 

Miss  Sylvester,  the  niece  of  a  society 
leader  in  New  York,  has  some  of  the 
wild  blood  of  the  South  American  Span- 
iard in  her  veins,  and  she  is  fascinated  by 
Count  Geratdina,  a  daring  adventurer, 
who  claims  to  be  worth  millions  as  the 
beneficiary  of  a  pearl-fishery  concession. 
The  story  of  their  sensational  marriage 
and  its  strange  results  is  told  with  great 
realism  and  admirable  art. 

Illustrated  by  W.  Sherman  Potts 

Cloth,  Svo,  $i.oo 


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452  Fiftli  Avenue,  New  York 


\ 


!\ 


The  Vulgarians 

BY  EDGAR.  FAWCETT 


In  this  «tory  the  aothor  hu  achieved  the  best  ezpretaion 
of  bis  genius.  Parvenu*  of  immense  wealth  are  here  made 
real  before  the  reader,  and  not  only  real,  but  lovable  as 
well.  The  story  is  at  once  ingenious  and  simple,  enter- 
Uining  and  profound.  It  is  a  most  valuable  picture  of 
American  life,  drawn  from  facts,  and  must  stand  as  an 
important  contribution  to  literature. 

nX^inA^ry'"   ^""""'^  ''^''"  "^  Boohs.-^'lt  it  .  bright. 

-.i^f?  *'<"■* -y*"*-"  In  N«w  Vork  thejr  (tht  vulgarians)  fared  better, 
and  the  reader  may  be  Interested  in  obaervlng  how  it.  civUUiDg 
tafluence  traniformed  them,  and  how.  with  the  aMistance  of  a  charm. 
Ittg  woman,  they  were  tteered  clear  of  many  pltfalla." 

^^A^f^HiZ'^V*  ^'It"  '^•L'»  "'w*  '•"■'y  ''•°™  'he  West  who  already 
had  money  enough  to  make  them  comfortably  happy,  and  when 
nnespectea  fortune  dropped  down  upon  them,  were  awed  with  their 
own  Importance  and  fell,  at  all  neWly  rich,  that  they  inuat  necei^ 
wily  make  a  splurge.  The  book  relates  a  «tory  very  "ommr  a  in 
thla  country,  and  is  enteruinlng."  «.uui"i  a  m 

«v.u'?C***"'  /)/>/a/<:A^~"He  ha*  painted  for  ns,  too.  his  ideal  of  a 
!S^  i.v'lu'"^.*,"^*'^  ^°^y^  woman,  of  courie)  who  is  not  a  vulgarian 
of  either  the  Western  or  the  Eastern  type." 

Grand  Rapids  Herald.  -  "  Young  parvenus,  who,  like  Lochlnvar, 
came  out  of  the  West,'  are  those  of  whom  Mr.  Pawcett  writes,  and 
his  sympathetic  touch  Is  nnfalllng;  yet  there  is  an  underlying  cur. 
rent  of  humor  that  Is  delightful."  /    •  «■»• 

nJfliJ^^'I"!"'"'-::"!^^  reader  will  not  lose  interest  from  the 
afterST      '•*  '  **'^*  admirably  to  pass  away  a  Summer 

utf'^'ij"^  ^H'^"*.  ^*f*--"  A  characteristic  story  of  Summer 
life.    The  plot  is  full  of  excitement." 

_».£Sf  v''"'"l  ^""^-^  Edgar  Fawcett  has  produced  many  novels 
wlich  have  been  perfect  pictures  of  certain  phases  of  life,  but  In 
^•Vulgarians,'  his  latest  story,  his  art  becomes  almost  photo- 

lliustrated  by  Archie  Qunn,  $1.0O 


THE  SMART  SET  PUBLISHING  CO. 

452  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City 


'mmm 


"— '  «  ■■  **>  msmmtm  mm 


I, 


A  PURITAN  WITCH 

otf  l^pmanHc  Lovt  Story 

Autkor  cf»TIU  Wtmam  tfOrtkldti'  ttt. 


\S 


THMLLIWG       TENDER       ABSORBIHG 

This  is  a  romance  that  abounds  in  the  best 
qualities  of  the  bent  fiction :  action  that  is  essen* 
tial  and  vigorous,  sentiment  that  is  genuine  and 
pure,  a  plot  that  is  new  and  stirring,  a  setting 
that  is  fitting  and  distinctive.  The  artistic  con- 
ception of  the  story  happily  unites  realism  and 
romance.  The  reader's  interest  is  aroused  in  the 
first  chapter;  it  is  increased  steadily  to  the  climax 
of  a  happy  ending. 

THB  ILLUSTRATIONS  ARE  PROM 
DRAWINOS  IN  PNOTOQRAVURB 


Crown  5vo,  Cloth,  $1.Z5 


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452  Fifth  Avenue,  New  Yofk  Ctt/ 


The  Fi jhtin j  Chance 

TMC  ROIiAISCC  or  AN  INQ^UC 

5y  Qertradc  Lynch 

The  itory  is  a  modern  romance  dealing  with 
prominent  public  characters  in  Washington 
political  life,  depicting  a  vivid  picture  of  a  phase 
in  the  life  of  an  honest  statesman.  The  theme 
is  treated  with  great  skill  by  an  author  whose 
personal  experience  enables  her  to  write  lumin- 
ously of  department  life.  The  love  interest  in 
the  story  is  fascinating,  while  the  plot  is  abso- 
lutely distinctive—as  original  as  it  is  satisfying. 

COMMENTS  OP  THB  PRESS 

— *  ^'ff*  ^"'•— "  A  clarwlf  writtra  ttory  and  hM  lomt  fln*  eh«r- 
Mttra. 

JV.  Y.Jommal.-^rYi»  itory  ta  M  intMMtins  u  It  la  valuabta." 
Smit  Lmka  TrOumt.—^  A  fla«  ttory." 

i-*-£fi'f  .2i**Sf!l<?— 'i^***.'«  Mooth  Mdtwaant  and  !«▼• 
ri?!i**J''  T?*  "••»»«««  Chaaoa  •  to  raUca  anyoaa  who  ia  alart  tor 
>  gooa  atory. 

»^T^J!J^J.'~^9!^*  of  thoaa  dalichtfnl  eoffl«diat  In  which  the 
22io2/^-'i**'£'  ^'^.SS"**!*  •".<!  tha  atory  la  told  with  a  ylvld- 
S2M*5!J.^***iL!!?^'''«  *»J:?«>*"?*  •>*  tl>a  ■canea  aad  eharaetera 
SSii.^2I?*i.*"EK2L?.*"V?U  7^*  •«*'<«  la  clevwly  dnunaUc  and  tha 
awioaariant  ia  akilfuUy  bald  In  aaapanaa." 


iH 


Illustrated  by  Bayard  Uonea 
Crown  Avo,  Cloth,  91.25 


THE  SMART  SET  PUBLISHING  CO. 

4S3  FIftta  AveaiM,  New  York  City 


.  — — -^ir  ^  j.|^  i'«iniiii<  in» 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer 

Aa  AmuAlag  TnivMty  oa  Rtlncanuttoa 

BY 

EDWARD  8.  VAN  ZILE 

A  Yankee,  after  long  residence  in  the  East,  haa 
become  an  adept  in  magical  arts,  and  on  hit 
return  to  America  amuses  himself  by  occult 
pranks  that  involve  innocent  persons  in  appalling 
dilemmas.  The  author's  humor  is  distinctive  and 
unfailing;  tho  plot  is  absorbing.  The  book  does 
not  contain  a  dull  line  or  a  sad  one. 

N*w  York  5mm.— "Th*  rMdar  majr  b«  aiturad  that  ha  will  b« 
MBHMd  and  antartainad." 

Ntw  York  Amfricam.—*'  Mora  than  witty  and  mora  than  waird, 
whita  It  combines  both  thcaa  qualities  and  many  more." 

Pkiladotfkia  Xteord.—'*  Cleverly  told,  and  the  volnma  capably 
anaota  ita  allotted  r61a  of  fumlahlng  light  antartalnmant  (or  tba 
raadar." 

St.  Louis  RofuNic.-"  A  lattch  Invariably  accompaniaa  tha  raad* 
ing  of  nearly  every  paragraph."^ 

CUvtUnd  /t*eordor.—"Tbt  ttory  ia  a  moat  otiglnal  ona." 

Towm  ToM'cs.-"  I  ballad  them  with  joy  for  their  originality  and 
irreaiatlbla  drollery." 

Troy  Pross.—'*  Ptrkims,  tk*  Fakt*r,  usaa  his  powara  In  ao  alam- 
Ing,  as  well  as  an  amusing,  manner." 

Omaka  VYorU-HoraU.-*''  In  this  honr  of  the  waarisoma  ao.«allad 
'  historical  novel '  it  is  a  relief.  Indeed,  to  come  to  know  the  fasci- 
nating i^r.  Ptrkins." 

ToMo  B/ad*.—'^Th9  talaa  are  amusing,  and  if  they  wera  plays, 
would  ba  biUed  aa  slda-splittara." 

Illuttnfd  by  HY.  KMYER.    $1.00  n»f. 
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DEAN. 


of  a  Widow." 


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Vbil 


'iUvMlM  of  «  Widow." 


. ri^!'rtl?iU*™*^^°*,"*^  brilH»nt  flashes  of  wit  and  love  "Retv 
can.cloa.Iy  love.  him.  b^L'Si  ^'U  %  e^iif^rantcS": 


-_ to  booka  keopa  ||  or  w|tl  procure 

II  lor  you.  or  it  will  be  aent  poatpUd.  on 
r*c«ipt  of  prio*.  by 

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Nigger  Baby 

...AND... 

Nine  Beasts 

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LoTCfft  of  Aninub  crrnrwhcrc  Iiatc  txp:tmtd  thdr 

«ppfceUtkm  o*  (:i   dAlnty* iaiciiutinf 

▼olumc  of  Minutl  itoffka. 


The  stories  are  beautifully  illustrated  by 
Gustave  Verbeek,  and  handsomely  printed  on 
hand-made,  deckel-edge  paper,  with  cloth 
binding,  illuminated  cover  and  gilt  tops.  Your 
newsdealer  has  it  or  will  secure  it  for  you,  or 
it  will  be  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price, 
$1.50,  by  the 

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LoYcLcttcrsofaLiar 

By  MRS.  WltXIATI  ALLBN 

IN  gntMCiil.  MdMt  phrMM.  m  AoMricM  nua  woom  bb 
AoMiioiB  girl  tfrfttokrllf.    Tbn  Icttort  w«r«  flrat  prtotad 
ia  Thb  Smast  8bt  iMt  8tptraib«r,  and  thiu  Mt«4«t«  "An 
Bofttthworaaa't  Lov«  Utttn."  which  they  imiDMtarably 
MrpMn  In  Btyl*  and  inttrttt,  being  at  cntp  aad  poiatad  aa 
thair  IngliBh  rootina  ara  prolia  and  rambUag. 
Lo^an  can  Uarn  much  from  tbam. 

BfTHUflAfnC  MIM  OMNMitt 

ton.  A»(or-nriMLiir\'-niMi«n. 
tiMy  un  ««llkiMiir  mtoMf  toMlMv 
ur  womaa  unui  UiU  wrtlw  am 
lUaucU  (stM  to  U«  protMUttM*. 
TM  WMhiMlM  fMt-Ia  U 

fairly  McwsM  ptctanol  tlMavtrap* 


ti».rutaMaki*  ■•««»  AMrt. 

•w  —Mrt.  AliM  tet  tuTMil  Ml  • 

d«f«r  ften  of  iltofalon-a  voiuao 
tiMt  will  tuiia  M  OM  of  tiMllMrar* 

pMUplMtof  tho  MUOR.     TiMbook 


•M  MM  givoa  0  vof  y  praMy  buidia(. 
Aray  m4  Ravy  ioaraal  — 


it  atory, 


Uttono('aLlar''Ua 
',  toUi  In  kr 

nlf  ambmo 


rtto 


aacrtHfr 


ambitioa,  maota 


..--  ...jbitlc 

-t4ft  pwMy.    It  U  a 
- .-.  rohuM  vhldi  caii,bo  nii  at  a 
Itlat  MM  la  vortli  nadlaf. 
fMt  lorfc  WorM-An  tito  »otM  la 
tafKiif  ,abmH  -  Tho  Uvo  Lottan  of 
M  tacHaliwoK      ^  Sit  thoy  do  aot 
Mwoaro  wtiu ,  ivt  Lottora  of 

a  QaT-' la  k^i.        . .  ■aowlodga  of 
■M  aad  tia  wacia,  aad  tiMir  darlag . 


~  of  iiio  wofia-ooraMt  la  tKo 
p  iraaitof  whatovarobiact  hodaoRMd 
aaioatlalto  hja  ova  wailata  a«a  hap- 
plaaaf,  MaadfaatI*  latoat  oa  tho  ac> 
coBiplliliinaat  of  Ua  own  aad. 

n*  AtlaaU  CooiMl8tloa-T>io 

Slot  of  tho  mattar .  kta  forai  of  proaaa- 
tiion  and  tha  intonail*  of  theocbt 

ssiS5S!fs?tttaSdr  •**'''' 


Bxqaiaitaly  printad  on  thick  dackal-adga  papar  with  flaa* 
Ibla,  imitation-laathor  cover. 

S<dd  by  all  bookMUan,  or  lant  poet-paid  on  racaipt  oi 
prica,  so  cants  (tUmpa)  by  tha  pnbliahart.  Tha  trade  tapplied 
at  usaal  diacounU  1^  Tha  Amariean  Newt  Company  and  all 
bookjobbort. 

THE  SMART  SET  PUBLISHING  CO. 

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••TNI  Wii 

AUti 


Sv  VercM  Vein 


"the  widow" 
in  the  south 

••  A  PIIEWOMieNAl.  BOOIC.«»-ir.  O.  rumitmf 


"  Om  of  th«  bMt  thing*  that  could  b«p|Ma  to  the 
South  would  b«  to  h*vt  •very  nwo,  woman  Bod 
child  In  tb«  country  r«»d  thii  charming  work.  Tho 
•uthor't  »tyl«*  flowt  m  pellucid  M  a  pin«y  wood* 
brook.  All  the  cl«urer  (or  the  thlning  wnd  and  humor 
at  the  bottom."— AVw  Orftatts  Pkayun*, 

••Written  with  a  breexy  tlcverne«»  that  will  well 
repay  ^tM.%ii\:'—RiikmoHd  Timtt-Dispattk. 

•  A  goo<l  work,  written  by  a  woman  who  evidently 
haa  bralna  a«  well  as  %ymptLthleik."-G/aUDfr»tH:rai. 

"•Tha  Widow'  write*  honestly,  without  heat  or 
prejudice,  but  4S  "he  i»  and  hat  been  a  practical 
woman  o£  affair*  and  on  the  •Uff  of  great  paper*,  »he 
1*  able  to  eitract  the  kernel  of  sentiment  regarding 
the  South.    She  drops  telling  •entenci*." 

JTm*  puMUk*4  in  »M«t  f'>rm  *»•  rt«p«w«  to 

fm  e«Li  «»«e»WMt«B,  •■  etirr  rwiK  on  nieiirr  er  peioc 
Cx.on,  T5  Onmi  PAvaa,  M  Cwm. 


Ube  Smart  Set  pabliBbtnd  Co. 


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